While Rodias’ fears couldn’t be wholly washed away by the [Lion’s Heart] buff, it certainly worked to restore a bit of spine to the Sable Lord. His hand would reach out to accept the flanged mace from Light before visible steam was rising up from his gloved hand. Any with class or race skills that allowed them to view his status would immediately see a drop in Rodias’ physical condition, as his dexterity dropped immensely and a constant ticking burning damage was applied to him, a constant siren blaring in Rodias’ mind about <INVALID_EQUIPMENT: SLOT_1>. ...Even in a new world, old systems were fighting to maintain coherence as the mace itself burnt away at Rodias who was attempting to wield it. Originally intended for use by Droledge, a master at armed close range combat, it was clearly never meant for the hands of one so unattuned to swordsmanship.

...Never meant for one so unworthy.

Even with the combined efforts of the miko and their prayers, a buff of that level could do little to the percentile worsening of Rodias’ condition as he, with heavy steps, made his way to the window outlooking the courtyard of Chateau Gothika. His footsteps would cease as Salem questioned him, the dhampir’s head swiveling slowly to look at Salem’s monstrous constructed form. The doll’s question was a tricky one, one that made sense. After all, if all she wanted was Rodias, wouldn’t it be better for him to just give up and come along quietly? Before Rodias could give his answer, Chuunitrixx would suddenly appear in the room, without sound, and without even a speck of dust disturbed by her appearance from Ratta stopping the flow of time to bring her there. Aurora would attempt to heal Rodias’ slowly draining HP only for him to say: "Heal Chuunitrixx. Now. No amount of healing can help me while using E Pluribus Unum."

Once the paladin set to healing Chuunitrixx’s wounds as best as she could manage, Rodias would look to Salem, his usual calm expression completely betrayed by a hollowness of his eyes. "I considered that, yes. After all, if I simply left, then you all could continue on just fine without me. But, thinking back on it, I don’t even think I could have accepted that..." Rodias would say as his free hand grabbed the windowsill...or rather, what should have been Rodias’ hand did. In place of his hand was an elongated distortion of his shadow, molded into something in the vague resemblance of an arm that was tearing at the stonework in its scrambling attempts to get a solid hold without simply shattering the sill. "But somebody that doesn’t respect those who offer their loyalty to me are undeserving of mine. She made it clear she viewed you all as less than insects in how she disposed of Mamoru’s clone. So, right now, Salem..." Rodias would say, climbing onto the window sill after managing a grip. "Right now, I couldn’t care less about how beneficial joining with her would be. The children of my friends are not things to be cast aside. And I’m willing to fight to prove that," he would say before dropping from the window down to the courtyard.

At the same time...

With an arm missing and her buff slowly waning, Ratta’s fight was beyond uphill. It was like trying to walk up a greased up wall. Undeterred by the loss of her arm, the chronomancer would fight her heart out before a snake’s mouth would engulf her left leg, tearing a chunk out sufficient enough to break the bone, shattering it from the knee down and forcing her to kneel, before Morgan would glower at her, wordlessly staring at her with golden eyes as stone crept up the remainder of Ratta’s body. Stomping upon her remaining leg as it was midway through turning to stone, Morgan completely destroyed Ratta’s ability to move before ripping her head effortlessly from her neck; A task made all the more simple from the chronomancer being a Dullahan. ”Alright, I win. Now where’s Rodias? And don’t answer ‘Up’ or I’m going to break whatever bones you have left,” the gorgon would say, before the dullahan smiled faintly, blood trickling from her lips. She was assuredly going to perish either way...but, judging from how long that Butterfly had the [Haste] Buff for…

”He is home,” Ratta would say, before the fist of Gashadokuro would emerge, tearing the ground apart from beneath and shattering Ratta’s petrified body, her head slowly falling away from Morgan as the shock of the blow loosened her grip. The dullahan’s head would roll slowly to a stop, the magical flow of energy slowly streaming from her neck ceasing as she closed her eyes. Aside from the clone of Mamoru, she would be the only fatality today. For the guardian of Bandersnatch’s weak, this was a satisfying victory. A resounding success that ended with the lowliest defender playing her part well.

Amidst the blow of electric fists, Morgan would furiously tear at Gashadokuro’s fist, snake fangs and her hands attempting to shatter the bone, expecting it to be a simple weakling like the others had been. Rodias would drop at this point, watching Shin Gashadokuro’s onslaught against the unprepared Morgan. It...was working. At least in terms of stunning Morgan. Her hair would once again turn into snakes, furiously launching beam after beam of magical energy at her surroundings in a desperate attempt to fend off the skeletal monstrosity, confusion acting more than rationale. When the physics of this world were tampered with however, Morgan was helpless to stop herself from being pushed into the hole that swallowed her and Shin Gasha. Rodias had arrived too late to do anything, but had arrived just in time to see, of all things, Morgan crying. ...It wasn’t tears of anger or frustration either. There was something sad within her eyes that resonated so strongly with Rodias that he wanted to vomit, to purge himself of empathy for a person that had tried to kill his retainers. ...And yet, her last wail was his name.

Looking up, Rodias would catch Butterfly after gently laying E Pluribus Unum down, the mace not having a purpose now that the fight had ended. Being careful with the skeleton, Rodias would say: "We do indeed. Let’s…”

Then, his eyes fell upon Ratta’s head. A quivering overtook Rodias’ body as he put Butterfly down, kneeling down to tensely touch the severed head before him. She was...really dead. The first death the Chateau had in truth since first arriving, as the mimics were by and large similar to ants, infinitely replaceable and continually reproducing. Rodias’ arms trembled as he realized that he had done nothing. Nothing at all to help. All of his talk meant nothing next to his actions, his great nothingness that allowed for one of the Chateau’s noblest souls to be dismembered and killed while he cowered in his throne room. The gardens that Zouyu had so delicately tended were destroyed, the front of the Chateau was marred with the melted stone struck by Morgan’s blasts, and here in Rodias’ arms was the greatest of his follies.

Exhaling sharply, Rodias would nod at Butterfly’s words after finally remembering them, saying: "Yes. Let’s...let's return to the Climax Hour.”

---

After the return of any of Bandersnatch’s hunters and Zouyu, Rodias would convene with everyone that was still present within the Climax Hour, having returned E Pluribus Unum to the vault personally. His visage was shaken completely, his green skin a touch paler than its normal tone.. "...I am sorry,” Rodias would say as he bowed his head, now lowering himself not out of humility, but of deeply rooted shame.

In the midst of the Astral Sea, Morgan would sit atop the shattered remains of the Shin Gashadokuro, finally managing to overpower it after ten minutes of continual assault. The distance and change in gravity from their transition to this space was one that gave Morgan a renewed advantage, since the skeleton’s every blow would knock her out of its range, eventually allowing it to simply whittle it down with blasts of magic. Somewhat scratched up from her encounter, Morgan would be idly tearing apart small bits of Shin Gashadokuro, the petrified bones making a sound that was apparently rather appealing to her. Curling up, the girl would pull her knees to her chest and quietly curse her own mistakes...before furiously smashing her hand into a nearby floating rock, pulverizing it in an instant. ”Those stupid NPCs...they’re holding him captive there. They have to be! They even dragged him away after distracting me…” the medusa said, biting the nail of her left thumb as she thought and thought, fumbling through her inventory before pulling out a scroll and reading it, a gate composed of violet arcane energy appearing before her. ”...I need Ardion’s help...Rodias is in trouble,” she would say, before stepping back on through to the plane of reality she was accustomed to in this fantastic new world, leaving Shin Gashadokuro’s petrified mass to drift for eternity.

At least, what was left of it.

It would be heartbreaking for Zouyu to come home to his gardens completely and utterly destroyed, the weretiger’s knees giving out as he pawed at a mass of dirt, finding a number of crushed flower petals and ruined roots. ...Whatever one thought of how attached to his plants the druid was, it was clear that he was in no shape for whatever meeting Rodias was calling. He need to grieve, leaving Kaldorna and her hunters to their business.

Ashara’s fox-fire would be intercepted by the cultist, his body writhing as the fire kissed his skin, burning away his robes to reveal the strange, flesh-colored armor beneath. Indeed, the tender did seem to prefer saving the tree’s hide rather than his own as his armor steamed from the heat of the fire. Sweeping his arms however he would glower at Ashara, his voice hoarse as he said: ”Do..no..t...assume. I. Am. ...Aaaam…” he would moan, scratching furiously at his arm, before suddenly ceasing all movement and standing up perfectly straight. ”[Jump].” The tender would whisper before a cloud of dust exploded out from near his feet, the cry he gave from above being the only indicator he gave on his location before metal claws struck at Ashara’s spear’s shaft, the man soon descending after gliding past Ashara and raking his claws against her Wind Walk platform, the very mana used to create it seeping into his claws, as if ripped away from Ashara.

Now, the tender waited below as Ashara plummeted, a nearby patch of ground contorting as rocks became teeth, hungrily snapping as a hole became a maw waiting to consume her.

”He hungers.”

In the efforts of healing Chuunitrixx’s severed arm, Aurora would spare no small amount of MP...and yet...the limb refused to materialize. Rather than serving to restore her fully, an intimate part of Chuunitrixx was lost in that fight, it seemed. While the radial prayer from the Miko’s buffs served to stabilize her for the time being, Aurora was at a loss for a permanent solution. Looking to Graft as he would announce the fatalities, beneath her mask Aurora would narrow her eyes. He didn’t even acknowledge Chuunitrixx bleeding out on the very floor he walked upon. It wasn’t her place to judge...but to disregard Chuunitrixx’s help, as well as Ratta’s sacrifices in the fight were tantamount to spitting upon those who’d allowed Butterfly to win in any capacity.

Chuunitrixx writhed at the application of magical healing from the Paladin; it wasn't her fault, simply a consequence of the reality of the situation they were stuck in. Recoil Damage wasn't a thing, when they were merely video game pawns, but, here, now, where they were as real as the players they once served... well, Chuunitrixx's arm was the leading example. Her eyes switched through various colors, different hues and shades, each unique -- nineteen colors in total, Aurora would find. However, the orbs themselves glared at Graft, as he preached in the room, as she struggled not to scream in agony beyond her threshold -- not here, not now.

Her anger and misery was evident, however, with the end results of the fight attributed to Bone Daddy, and, as far as she understood, him, alone, with the actions and sacrifices of Mamoru's Clone and Ratta Taz Skor relegated to assistance.

And, her own actions were ignored entirely.

Aurora would continue to mend, now just trying to ease the pain. Chuunitrixx’s wounds were closed, but the pain of it would still throb. Especially in her phantom limb. Aurora was silent, but her hands were secure on Chuunitrixx, trying to offer her a feeling of security.

Chuunitrixx groaned, "Where..."

"Here," Sorcates says, teleporting in, suddenly, and kneeling at her side; dirtying the hem of her skirt and the knees to ankles of her stockings in grass-green blood. "Lady Aurora, what is the damages," she asks, far more respectful than anyone could have expected. Aurora would notice that her eyes were duller, lacking in their usual prideful shine; as if, painted in matte colors instead of luster.

Aurora was surprised to see Socrates here, and, seeing as words didn’t need to be minced, she would reply to the inquiry with: ”Her arm is beyond repair. No manner of magic seems capable of restoring it. I’ve exhausted my MP three times, restoring it each time with mana potions, and still nothing. ...It may very well be lost forever. Beyond that, the poison afflicting her has been cured...and her heartbeat is irregular.”

‘Socrates nodded, and bent over; her chest splitting along her sternum, and she reached in: producing a multi-level toolbox. "The best course of action is to shut off the blood valves and remove the limb, then," she says, "Can you perform surgery?"

Silence followed the question, before Aurora would nod. ”I only have levels in Pharmacist, but I understand basic medical principles. I would need you to guide me, however,” she stated as she began removing her gauntlets.

Socrates nodded, and squinted around the room. Her eyes were collecting data, visible statistics of everyone present around, before she settled on Graft. "Medic. That's acceptable to accomplish this task," she says, before she started to mutate and morph into Graft, mimicking his form to the smallest atom. "I won't wear this skin..." Socrates said, ignoring Graft's voice, as she reconfigured his Avatar to her personal Appearance. "I can make use of this gear and inventory, but I won't wear that person's skin for such an important task."

Socrates sighed, and cracked her fingers, "Are you ready, Papillary -- I mean, Lady Aurora?"

Aurora would do little more than nod. She was ready.

Socrates would start requesting work from her, "Sterilize the site, Papillary. This surgery will consist of a local anesthetic comprised of two-part morphine, one-part opium, one-part diazepam," as her newly acquired tentacles took out tools more befitting a hobbyist than a surgeon, and held them at the ready, as well as a tray for Aurora's own work, and a bucket for hazardous materials.

Dutifully following instructions, Aurora would manage to multitask sterilization as well as synthesizing the anesthetic.

"Surgery starts laterally with the humerus and glenohumeral joint," Socrates says, as she took a box cutter in hand, ‘ "Prepare a series of sponges, and be quick with application."

As the surgery moved forward, Socrates continued to direct Aurora -- constantly referring to the Paladin as Papillary -- and operating with the tentacles retrieving, sterilizing, handing, taking, sterilizing, and replacing the tools required as she thought of them. Her disdain of the director settled at an unfathomable depth, but the usefulness of his build in this situation created a bridge over that chasm.

As soon as the bulk of the arm was removed, and Socrates went into clean-up, the open space closed and regenerated around the space smoothly. All that remained of her right arm was the head of her endoskeleton's humerus bone, disconnected, but anchored into place, so her shoulder would remain, largely, intact, and allow her to wear her upper body clothing with the same effectiveness.

The tense silence hanging after the surgery would be broken by Rodias, voice unsure as he looked to Socrates. ”How is she?”

"Alive," Socrates says, squinting at Rodias. "No thanks to you..." It was unfair, unjust, and she knew it, but Socrates was angry. So much of this went so far beyond her understanding, and she just wanted someone to blame. Rodias was the only person she could, even though he deserved none of it. Rodias could tell that much from the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Rodias didn’t react much to the bitter end to that statement. Either because he understood...or because he believed it. Slowly turning his head away from Socrates, Aurora, and Chuunitrixx, Rodias would look back to the bare table before him, saying: ”See to it that she rests, then. And...tell her that she has my gratitude.”

"Gratitude doesn’t restore her arm," Socrates says, looking at Rodias through squinting eyes; as if, she were unable to see him properly. "I need to replace her heart..." she says, "My hands are shaking, and I can’t focus..." Socrates looked down. "I want her heart. I’ll take it myself, if I have to. Either with my own hands or that fancy mace of yours."

”You wouldn’t be able to use it,” Rodias said tersely. ”No matter who you mimic.”

"I’ll mimic Drolege, himself, if that’s what it takes!" Sorcates shouted, standing with a dramatic flourish of Graft’s trench coat; the material billowing behind her.

Rodias would look Socrates dead in the eyes, before asking: ”That so? And how do you intend to do that, Socrates? To mimic someone that isn’t here, that you’ve never seen, that you couldn’t even POSSIBLY know. Go on then. Spit on his memory,” Rodias’ tone was a low snarl, an anger about him that none had yet seen.

"I don’t need such trivial requirements. I have studied the very history of the Guild, from Drolege to you. You think I am beneath acting as required. That is my job," Sorcates says, "Brushen Penn, Deka_Ribbon, Yoaishisaurus, Fredrik, Dr Drd, even Drolege, and all the rest. Bit by bit, you’re recorded into history -- a history I can learn from, use, and master. I don’t need to meet phantoms. I just need you to have met them."

Socrates narrowed her eyes, as Graft’s trench coat changed from mottled browns to a glorious silver and gold, and folded over her body into plates; the back of it billowing out into an inspiring cape, as her tentacles fused into a weaved mesh to bridge gaps into the plating. As the armor encased her, it closed into a vertically fluted visor with winged ears and a back-facing mount for a single feather of the most brilliant blue. At her hips came into existence, as if being digitized and downloaded, a sword with blade of blue as brilliant as the feather, the length of a bastard sword, yet the width of a longsword, and the handle, hilt, and crossguard of a decorative greatsword.

Slamming down, the visor caused her blonde hair to billow back with her cape, as she exuded a mere 60% of the power of the figure she’s learned of in Kath’s Library.

It was enough for Rodias to take her seriously, however.

And, unfortunately, more than her own body could handle. Rodias would be able to tell, before anyone else, the strain had rendered her utterly unconscious from nearly inducing a heart attack, and she was just standing, imposingly, still; held up by the combination of an armor set of, “A Man that Never Surrendered His Ground,” and her own firm belief.

Rodias would simply glance at her, before saying: ”Aurora, escort them home. ...And tell Socrates to rest, when she wakes. Today’s been hard. For all of us.”

Aurora would be met by a hand, a physical hand rising out of concrete, and several Concreep Mixers. Pushing off the ground, the hands became an arm, a shoulder, then a neck with a feminine mannequin head; the left half of a giant woman's upper chest leaned out of the Concreep. Shattering, a single eye opened, and narrowed on Rodias. Looking away, the hand reached over Chuunitrixx and Socrates, and covered them; pressing flat into the floor, and sinking into a pool of itself.

"I will see to such arrangements, My Lord. You have done as much as you can. I apologise for my daughter's words. Her pride forces her to speak from a place of anger," says the woman of stone, looking back to Rodias. "Forgive my intrusion, but I do not wish my mother or daughter to be beset upon by any of those I have no idea birthed. Pardon my saying so, but I trust no-one gathered or away, yourself included," she says, before starting to sink, "I will console my daughter, and see to it you receive a formal apology, if nothing else. Goodbye, My Lord."

”...That is fine. I wouldn’t trust me, either, after today.” Rodias would say, hands netted in his lap.

The stone woman looked back, and her arm extended out; her pointer finger pressing, surprisingly, gentle against his head. It carried all the warmth and affection of a mother consoling a freshly-scolded child, before she patted his cheek, just as gently, and asks, "Do you know why you fall off horses, my young Lord?

”Because it bucks.”

The stone woman chuckled kindly, "Yes, and no. We fall off horses, so we may learn to pick ourselves up, and ride again."

”...She always did like that movie,” Rodias would say, smiling faintly.

Leaving Rodias with that thought, the stone woman returned to herself, her home, with Chuunitrixx and Sorcates in tow. Enderall had said her peace, and returned to her blissful reclusivity.

She was shockingly introverted.

Rodias would slowly come to rise from his seat, looking to Graft before bowing his head slightly. ”My apologies Graft. I was...in a bit of shock. Ratta’s death may not be permanent, but it doesn’t sadden me any less. If it weren’t for her, I doubt that Butterfly would have had the time to prepare Shin Gashadokuro. And, you are correct...we’re not going to simply wait around waiting to be attacked and killed once again. As such, I have a proposal, if you would be so kind as to open up another line to all those still conscious,” Rodias said, stepping towards the table and resting his palm atop it.

”My friends...we’re in dire need of training. That is, if you all think we should resist Morgan and her friends further. I doubt that Morgan really died from that. Otherwise, Butterfly would rival my level from the experience he gained. Rather, not one person leveled up from that encounter...which tells me that she’s alive out there. And, her survival means that she’ll make her way back to her fellows...who are likely to retaliate if they still intend to take me by force. If you would all rather live in peace here, then I have an alternate proposal,”

”I could surrender myself. Then, they would have no reason to disturb you all. As Salem said, servitude isn’t so unthinkable. Especially if it can buy my comrades their lives. I would leave the decision in your hands, as my feelings on this matter are biased. I fear that hasty judgement would have me lead you into danger. Thus...I would propose that you all speak openly about your thoughts. And I would also propose that those who speak be unburdened by fear of retaliation from me, or others,” Rodias stated, of a mind to accept all view points on this. It was only fair, after all. He had utterly failed to protect even a single member of Bandersnatch in the fight.

Ashara was surprised, to say the least, when the cultist leapt into the air and - by some means - managed to reach her elevated magic platform. What was even more surprising was when the lunatic somehow managed to shatter and break it, causing the fox to plummet towards the ground, rather than gently and slowly descend at a snail's pace. But perhaps most alarming of all was the proverbial mouth of stoney teeth that now awaited below, and which would surely make a meal out of her in the next few seconds unless something was done.

Really, it was only a handful of seconds, if even that, that Ashara had to decide on a course of action, less she wanted to end up as newly mangled fertilizer for this nutjob and his Tree-lord. Swinging her spear out in arc, aiming away from both the cultist and the stone protrusions, she let out a hurried set of words.

"[Rocket Spear]!"

Instantly, a jet of what appeared to be fire erupted from the butt-end of her spear's haft, and sent Ashara flying sideways. Unfortunately, this skill wasn't ever intended to be used while airborne, much less while falling, and with only one arm holding her spear, controlling the direction and trajectory proved... Difficult.

Difficult to the point that Ashara not only crashed down into the ground several feet away, but also kept sliding across the ground until a sturdy oak-like tree stopped her, with a loud 'thwomp' as she smacked into it. Had the situation been less life-threatening, it might have looked humorous. But there was no time to spend on being ashamed or embarrassed about her mishap, so instead the fox sprung back onto her feet, whirled around and readied her spear with both arms this time. Gromgard was still lying face-down a ways away and wasn't offering any help, and the goblins he had brought along could barely handle the remaining mook-cultists who lingered in the treelines. What was she to do now? Whenever she attacked the Tree, the Tender just leapt in front of her attacks... If only someone else could distract the man, or alternatively attack the Tree while she distracted the man...

"Last I checked, kittens didn't fly," purred a smooth voice, as Ashara's center of gravity radically changed from crashed into a tree to moving rapidly at a significant pace. However, she was securely held by a pair of strong arms, and there was a familiar scent of horse and an equally familiar sound of a horse at work. "Hang on, little kitten," came the gentle, yet firm order. "Volleys at the ready! Explosive Arrows! Ready! Aim! Fire!"

Overhead, blazed a full score of explosive-tipped arrows, launched from horseback, as the Beta Survivors rode through the zone, and maneuvered their steeds.

"It's Ashara, isn't it? Ashara Masamune, little kitten," asks the Overseer of Beta, Alexander. "How adorable a damsel in distress you make." Alexander looked back, "Keep firing! Break it, and expose it for all weakness! Then, crush it! For Glory! For Honor!"

Heeding her order to the letter, the Beta Survivors rode their horse expertly, as trained by Alexander, and fired their composite longbows to launch arrow after arrow in a twenty-man cavalry skirmish; opening the way for Alexander to ride out Ashara and only the Maiden.

The arrows launched by the troops of Beta would find purchase in the flesh of the nightmarish tree, countless faces disappearing amidst a tide of blood and fire that cascaded down the side of the oaken monstrosity, while its Tender would bat away a series of arrows with a swipe of his hand, howling as he saw his precious altar dessicated, his actual physical form starting to bulge beneath his cloak, as if his very flesh was struggling to keep it together. Rampaging, the Tender would approach the Mimic troops at breakneck speeds, decapitating a mimic before suddenly feeling a weight land upon his shoulder.

”My my...such anger. All for a plant. I was starting to think that just maybe you had an appreciation for the finer things...but, alas,” the feline chapter keeper would lament, before raking his razor sharp claws against the grove tender’s back as he leapt away, narrowly avoiding a strike while laying a curse upon him. ”You’re just a madman with a green thumb,” he said with a cheshire grin, the Tender’s vision growing dark as he wildly flailed around, completely blind to the cat slowly encircling him.

Ashara meanwhile, was a bit confused to say the least. She knew not who this person who had picked her up, nor who these people on horseback who had come to her and her companions aid. After all, the fox had never met these mimics before, nor heard - or if she had, she had forgotten - anything about them. As such her initial reaction was that of stupefied surprise and noncomprehension.

However, at the repeated occurrence of being called a 'kitten', when she was most assuredly a 'puppy' did not sit well with the white-haired beauty and her nine tails. Nor did it sit well with her to be called a damsel in distress and being suddenly plucked from the battlefield to be ferried off while others interceded on her part. Not only was it rude, but it was also incredibly disrespectful, and even if Ashara wasn't the smartest lass around, she at least understood this much.

As such, she let out a 'hmph', before pushing herself free of the rider's arms, doing not but a simple yet graceful landing upon the ground, with the bells around her ankles jingling merrily as she touched down upon the grassy surface once more. She looked back at the battlefield, where some of the poor, brave souls who had come to their aid had already lost their lives, and Lord Chompy Bits had finally decided to act. Turning her head back to look at her self-appointed savior, the fox spoke loud enough to be heard, though it was not loud enough to be yelling.

"I thank you for your aid, stranger. But I am no damsel, nor a kitten." The fox said. Though she was typically polite and would smile, Ashara was still under the effects of Chompy's blessing, as well as feeling insulted and having been forcefully removed from her mission momentarily. She didn't sound rude or annoyed, but she didn't seem particularly pleased or friendly either.

Readjusting her haori, which had slightly slid off her shoulder during the snatch-and-grab, she then proceeded to swing her spear around herself and stick it in the ground beside her. She wouldn't need it for what she was about to do.

"[Purgatory: Grand Spirit Sphere]." She said, not yelled, as she held both arms above her head.

Slowly, a small globe of purple and black materialized above both her spread palms, before beginning to slowly spin in a lazy, counter-clockwise rotation. As it spun, it slowly seemed to grow in size, and one could even see the very air and wind bend and twist around it. Within a second, it had grown from the size of a golf ball to the size of your average soccer ball, and it would keep on growing. The fox was betting on that, now with the new arrivals and Lord Chompy Bits having stepped in to help distract the foul Tender, she would be free to unleash one of her more powerful and time-demanding attacks. As a charge-up skill, the Grand Spirit Sphere could be launched at any time, of course, but the longer one waited, the more powerful it became...

As such Ashara just stood where she was, next to her golden spear in the ground, with her robe, tails and hair fluttering ever more violently in the winds generated by the growing magic attack she was about to unleash.

"Oh, ho? Are we doing something special, little kitten," Alexander asked, as she unholstered the Engraved Revolver Ariamis from her belt. "Well, I don't wanna be left out of the fun," she says, before whistling, "Trade up! Revolvers out! We're ending this!"

As a unit, the nineteen Beta Survivors rallied into a large circle, and committed to circumvallation. Sheathing their longbows into their dominant arm, they drew out the same revolver, and extended their non-dominant arm to forge a sphere of magic. Alexander and her Beta Survivors chanted off a series of Arcane and Divine Spells, in rapid succession, before calling out the spell in play: Big Iron Justice Bringer.

The sphere burst into a speed loader, and slammed the bullet into the cylinder loader. "Ready! Lock! Aim!" Alexander called out, as if directing a firing squad at an execution. "For Glory! For Honor! For Gothika! Fire!"

The grove tender’s body was rittled with bullets which, despite the lower levels of the archers, still put a fair dent into his armor as his cloak was torn completely to shreds, with Lord Chompy Bits catching a few stray bullets which mean that a few archers would unceremoniously drop dead from the counterattack curse he had in place. Not that the cat would care. Ashara’s magical blast would be one the tender could not avoid, light engulfing him before the ball detonated, throwing up smoke and red dirt into the air.

Once the dust settled, the group would find that the Tender was significantly damaged, but not defeated, one of his arms hanging on by a thread...quite literally. What had been obscured by a small amount of leather armor and a cloak was revealed to be a body patched together with magic, string, and no small amount of twisted genius to cobble together the frankenstein of a man that stood amidst the grove of madness. ”No. No. No. NO. NO. NO.” the Tender stated, the tree he had so tenderly raised burnt to a crisp by the magical blast and gunfire, countless eyes in place across his body leaking tears as he screamed, flailing madly, savagely as he started to attempt to rip Ashara apart, his careful strikes gone for raw brutality and strength in his madness. ...For those with sympathy, it might be a sorrowful sight. But for those who were focused on victory, it meant nothing more than that he had completely lost his composure.

"Reload! Rearm! Fire!" Alexander commanded. She cared nothing for his tree, his hopes, his dream, or his actions. His death would bring her glory and honor, and that was all that mattered. As everything burned, she simply held a victorious smirk, before she stated, "Ashes, in the end, are ashes, and nothing good comes from wet ashes. So, save your tears for Hell. You'll need them."

As the now-clearly dying Tender lashed out with what remained himself, putting all his strength and ferocity into attacks and swipes that were like those of an enraged and frightening, but sadly predictable, beast that had been cornered, Ashara's eyes went half-closed. Having retrieved her spear right after launching her Grand Spirit Sphere, the lancer-fox was able to block or dodge the incoming, brutal attacks - though the difference in strength was rather apparent. Had the Tender not lost his mind, and instead used this kind of tactic but with more skill and precision from the start, he would likely have been able to beat Ashara handedly simply by the sheer difference in their strength.

However, as things were, he was little more than a powerful animal now, clawing and scratching and flailing with his impending death hounding his heels so close by you could taste it. With the continued firing of the Mimics, pelting the lunatic's body with bullets from behind, it was only a matter of time before he would cease to be amongst them, the living. Not that this... Thing... Could be considered to have ever been alive in the first place, Ashara felt disgusted just looking at the patchwork puppet of a man.

Still, slowly whittling him down and was a rather tasteless way to handle things. Even if he was a creature of pure evil, and lacking any faculties of sanity anymore, Ashara did not like the idea of anyone being killed slowly and painfully. It was cruel and unnecessary. As such, after a particularly heavy swipe, one that could have easily torn the fox-girl's head off had she not backstepped, the spearwoman took the opportunity to finally counter-attack the mad dog.

"I bid you farewell, my adversary. [Impale: Throat]." She said solemnly, in a quiet voice, before she and her spear dashed forward at speed close to on par with the Tender's own, aiming to run his neck and lower head through with her shiny, golden spear.

Impaled would his head be, and yet, the grove tender’s assault did not stop. Whatever supernatural force animated this bizarre amalgamation of flesh was something beyond biology and logic. A hissing sound could be heard erupting from the destroyed neck, as if “something” within the body was retreating further in, the cult leader’s ribcage suddenly pushing out from his torso to grab Ashara from the sides, beginning to crush her with brutal force. It was intent to break the executioner’s spine, ignoring the now combative Gromgard’s efforts to bash apart the being from behind, even resisting his attempts to use fire magic to free Ashara from his crushing hold.

Lord Chompy Bits, seeing this clinging being would sigh. ”Such a sore loser. Much as I’m loath to do a favor for someone else, I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I just stood by and watched you get crushed like a bug. As such…boop,” the feline would say, before jamming his paw to be impaled on one of the ribs holding Ashara, a swarm of feline ghostly images assaulting the corpse and knocking it back. Now leaning with one paw bloodied, the feline would lick it and say: ”Go on then. You all finish it off. I need a nap after this…too bad we’ll have to burn this place to the ground. It would have made such a lovely addition to the nightmare…”

“Move feline,” Alexander says, running her booted toe against Lord Chompy Bits side, and punting him away. “Honorless scum like you have no right to give commands. Take your nap out of my sight, you heathen,” she snarled, rubbing her boot in the dirt, as if the dirt was cleaner, before she picked up the twitching beast. “Tell me, kitten, do you wish to kill this pathetic beast,” Alexander asks. “It did attack you in depressing desperation, after all.”

Now freed from the crushing, Ashara, sitting on her kees, taking several deep breaths and gently rubbing the sides of her ribs through her clothing, looked up at the woman who held the barely moving remains of their enemy. The fox simply shook her head.

"I do not wish to kill anyone, Miss. I was ordered by our Lord Rodias to slay all those belonging to the Masked Ones in this grove, and that is what I- We, have done." She said simply. "I hold no grudge against this poor, miserable creature. It tried to kill us, just as we have been killing it and its allies." She breathed out and got onto her legs, standing once more, albeit a bit shaky. "Holding petty, vengeful spite towards an enemy, such foolishness is beneath me." The woman said, elegant as always, she composed herself and smiled softly once again - the effects of Lord Chompy Bits' boon having seemingly worn off by now, and Ashara having returned to more or less who she usually was.

"Of course, do not let me stop you from dismembering this creature, if you so desire, madam. After all, it appears that is your enemy as well." She added, lightly tilting her head.

“Dismembering,” Alexander asks. “I’m hardly so crass. I have a better idea,” she says, as her chest suddenly opened, and she crammed the twitching beast in. “I’ll take this back to Rodias,” Alexander says. “Perhaps, the Fledgling Lord might impress for once with his decision.”

Ashara simply looked at the woman for a brief moment, before turning her head to look at Gromgard, then at Lord Chompy Bits - who had been unceremoniously booted to the side previously. It seemed neither of them were hurt, not in any greater capacity at least. Gromgard might have a bit of a bruised ego, having left himself open to being punched away, but other than that, they were all still very much alive and in good condition - even if the fox did feel a bit winded and tired from her final exchange with the grove's tender.

Closing her eyes, she used her ability to sense auras, searching the vicinity for traces of any remaining enemies. However, it seemed that the goblins and the newly arrived cavalry had dealt with all the lower life forms that had been around the area, meaning that their job was largely done. Though Chompy had said they'd need to burn this place, Ashara didn't quite understand why. Wouldn't that just put the entire forest at risk of being burnt down? Well, he was a Chapter Keeper after all, so perhaps he knew something she didn't. Or perhaps it was some kind of insurance? It didn't matter, she had no fire-related skills other than her Fox Fire, and it was not suited for setting a large area aflame.

Although she felt this newcomer was being rude towards her master with her final words before dvouring the tender, Ashara had no intention of arguing or chastising someone. Not here, not now. They had been helped a great deal by this woman and her riders, so for now, the fox would show gratitude. That is, until a lot of talking suddenly filled her head.

She staggered backwards a bit, dropping her spear out of surprise. Holding one hand to her temple, she blinked a few times before realizing what was going on. Graft had opened one of his channels to her, and now there seemed to be something going on back at the Chateau? Rodias was asking what to do, and a lot of people were speaking - in turn - but each having, so far, varyng opinions and ideas.

"... It is just like the first meeting all over again..." Ashara murmured, inaudibly, just as Kaldrona finished her piece on the matter.

"Later, kitten," Alexander says, as she headed back to her horse. If Ashara wanted to say anything, she'd have a limited period of time to do so.

"Ah, yes. Farewell, Miss. Thank you for your timely assistance." The fox stated, ashs he lifted her head and glanced over to the other woman as she mounted her... Mount. The fox offered a polite bow, as she typically did, before returning to listening to the discussion in her head.

"Mount up! We ride for home!" Alexander ordered, as she did so herself, and the warband took off.

Nursing his pride after being kicked, Lord Chompy Bits would wordlessly walk away, grinning slightly as he approached the dying tree, the faces on it all weeping as it bled every ounce of mortal life force it had, the cat’s paw laying softly on the trunk before insects poured forth, devouring the whole of it in a matter of minutes, before the cat would silently walk off in a different direction than the Chateau, not bothering to answer the question proposed by Rodias, if he could even hear it.

Whatever reaction Rodias would have expected, he clearly wasn’t ready for the one given by those around him. Graft’s words confused him, Salem’s angered him, and Kaldorna’s, while meaning well, absolutely crushed his confidence.

…Now he realized his inadequacies. Now he realized, once more, that he was completely unfit to lead. Droledge’s visage being replicated in Socrates reminded him of his charisma, of his strength of character, of his boisterous personality that made people want to be around him and listen to him not because of title, but from sheer attraction to him as a person.

Rodias...wasn’t that.

He never had been.

He’d just been the only one who couldn’t let go.

The most stubborn and foolish of all the Sable Lords who, upon his throne, had allowed his foolish pointless orders to kill one NPC, get another lost out there somewhere, and have his entire leadership style in question. But really, calling it leadership was a stretch of the imagination to begin with. Right now, it was clear to anyone watching that Rodias’s refound bravado disintegrated once more; his eyes meeting the closed lids of Ratta’s severed head.

...When did he bring this here?

This grim reminder of his failure that had clung so tightly to his hand? Rodias wasn’t sure, but he would gingerly place Ratta’s head upon the table. Salem’s words made him question everything he’d known about his friends.

They weren’t like that… right?

Rodias would place his face into a gloved left hand, before saying: ”...You’re right, Salem. Ratta’s resurrection comes first. As for the matter of a council… I’ll consider it. … I’m sorry for wasting everyone’s time. You’re all dismissed. Salem, see to the retrieval of Isolde. She is listed as alive in the registry, so she may simply have been petrified by Morgan. That is all.”

With Ratta’s remains in hand the dhampir’s steps would carry him to the cathedral, the most fitting place for the resurrection of someone in a classic RPG fashion. That and, frankly, Rodias needed a break from this all. He’d never been a religious man; After all, who was in a world like the one he’d come from, where lives were determined by profit margins and the elite might as well be gods with how untouchable they were from repercussions, responsibility, and consequence of the ruined world they’d created. But just this once, the most unlikely of people knelt and prayed as Ratta was resurrected. A silent prayer offered in solace as Rodias struggled with his overwhelming guilt and inadequacy.

A prayer that something good could finally happen.
Ratta’s resurrection would be swift, taking no more than a bit of time on Rodias’s part and a healthy amount of gold from their coffers to reconstitute her material form. She would be nude initially, but her equipment was part of her existence and would reform with her, every part of her corpse disintegrating as the dullahan was reborn upon the altar. But when she would open her eyes in search of the only person who could have revived her, she would find nothing.

Rodias was gone from sight.

For one such as Morgan, the cold of the north was irksome and troubling. At least until she entered the crystalline palace that Ardion called home. Stamping her feet as she walked with haste, she would walk past the surprisingly warm halls carved of ice, shimmering slightly with the grace of the candelabra hanging overhead. Before she could set foot into the equivalent of the Climax Hour however, she would suddenly find herself being hugged from behind, a small body pressed against her back that made the girl’s hairs stand on end. Well, slither on end as they turned into snakes from the shock.

”Morgie~! How’d it go? Did you find anything exciting out there?” A light, chirpy voice would ask, almost childish in its tone as slender arms kept a surprisingly good grip on Morgan, despite her snake-like tail pushing their face and torso away.

”HUH!? L-Lemme Go! I don’t wanna play around right now, Celeste! Where are you putting your hands anyways?” Morgan would shout, furiously spinning around before knocking the girl away from her, the chipper youth not seeming to mind much as she gracefully landed on one foot, smirking at Morgan. ”Just wherever I want, as usual. You’re the one always talking about urges that Ardion supports, right?”

Morgan would furiously turn about, opening the door. ”Shut up. You already know that I can beat you. Creepy ass old man…” she would mutter, before slowly peeking in the door that led to Ardion’s throne room, looking sullen to see it empty. ”...He’s not back yet?” she asked, sounding very disappointed.

”I am afraid not. He has been gone for quite some time,” a voice from the ceiling would say, as the loud skittering of legs would signal to Morgan the presence of another one of her comrades overhead. Craning her neck up to meet his eyes through his helmet, the arachnid knight would bow his head as best he could while up-side-down before leaping to the ground, metal clattering against his armored hairy body. ”Are you well, Morgan? You look like you’ve been in a fight. Have you encountered someone strong enough to pose a threat?” the arachnoid would question, to which Morgan would hurriedly wave her hand dismissively. ”No way. Just some dumb guild NPCs got the drop on me. Thanks for your concern though, Araneus. ...Oh yeah, you aren’t going to believe this! I found-”
”A real player?” a voice would ask from behind Ardion’s throne, a soft-faced young man emerging from behind it, a pair of fox-like ears twitching from atop his head as he smiled at Morgan. ”Welcome home, Morgan. How was your walk? Am I right? Did you find someone like us?””

Morgan would childishly puff her cheeks out at being interrupted. ”Uh, yeah, yeah I did Kohaku. He’s a rogue, like me, and he’s somewhere around the 70 range.”

”Sounds weak,” Celeste would say, idly sitting in the air atop a leather-bound book, floating over and ruffling Morgan’s hair. ”Was he handsome? Did he break your wittle heart?”

Morgan would swat Celeste’s hands out of the air, hissing. ”Stop! My hair is worth more than your life, old man!” she would shout, before Celeste floated up-side down, placing a finger on her lips. ”Just shut up and tell us about him, before I start REALLY harassing you for being so cute.

Morgan sighed, before turning to her companions and beginning to explain, in full, her account of the battle at Gothika...

For a moment Graft believed. He believed that his words would reach the ears of the last Sable Lord, and haul him up from the depths he'd immersed himself in to reclaim his rightful place. It fit with everything he knew most fundamentally, after all; a Supreme Being stood over all created things, an entity from beyond bearing an innate mandate that set it at a different echelon to those of the world. They were not infallible, Graft understood, but they harbored limitless potential. If they so chose, such beings could accomplish anything they set their minds to. They could exhaust every modicum of content that reality had to offer, surpassing every possible challenge. While these immortals might experience setbacks, true defeat -a final end to their paths- came only if they so chose.

Graft's speech had been one of encouragement, but also ultimatum. Every carefully selected word led up to the choice he laid before Rodias, an intricate trap for the dhampir to foil or spring. If he was the leader of Gothika, he had no choice but to lead. If he did not step up to do that, here and now, he was no leader. Yet the Director did not think that could actually happen. He merely needed a prod in the right direction, and all would be well. In times like this, the boss turned to his number two to right his course, and Graft happily obliged. He waited with bated breath for Rodias to throw off the cloak of despair laying heavy on his shoulders and wrap himself instead in the mantle of sovereignty.

But that moment never came.

Dull-eyed, Rodias said nothing. He made no response to Graft's words. Instead his remained quiet, the cloud of depression hanging about him like a foul smog, and listened to what Salem had to say. Graft's mouth hung open for a moment, his mind electrified with astonishment. What? He's...not doing anything. He should have been roused to action! After a moment Graft meandered away and plunked into a chair, numbly allowing the others' words to reach him. Salem suggested subterfuge on the part of Rodias, relinquishing none of his authority while pretending to do so in order to infiltrate the ranks of Morgan's group. The doll also, with a knowing look at Graft that went unacknowledged, mentioned that Rodias' lofty ideas about the character and value of the guild might be misplaced. For once in its life the First Chapter Keeper spoke sense. It understood that the fragile bonds keeping Gothika together liked back to a single source, Rodias himself, and that letting go of any more slack meant a total collapse of order.

It had to be clear what Rodias needed to do at that point...it had to. But still he did nothing. He would do nothing.

Kaldorna said something next, mostly complaining about the state of the guild's organization. Graft agreed, although since his 'friend' seemed to lay a lot of blame on himself, he did not do so in good spirits. “It's thanks to me we have any semblance of communication or cooperation at all,” he grumbled, enunciating the last two words. His epiphany about Rodias staggered him, but anger bubbled beneath the surface. Kaldorna also suggested a council for the governance of Gothika, which did not gel with Graft. As if the majority of our number deserve any sort of authority, he thought. And what would such a council do, composed of servants with no master? What bound them all together? If there were no Sable Lords, as he made quite plain, there was no Bandersnatch.

Even gloomier than before, Rodias conceded to Salem and entertained the idea of a council before dismissing everyone. While others got underway, Graft continued to sit. He stared at the empty thrones. He sat until all the rest had gone, thinking, thinking, thinking.

Graft stood up, and approached the thrones. His lenses snapped into place, and they gave forth streams of light. Shapes wrought themselves into being upon the thrones, evidencing the vanished Bandersnatch Lords. Even with hazy details and holographic distortion they looked magnificent in their varied glory. Graft wished that he could have spoken to them like this before they were gone. He wished they were here now.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Board...” he said to the mirages. “...What is your will?” Graft sought answers in the faces of the Supreme Ones, and in the visages of those with no faces. His eyes ended up on Brushen Penn. Did her mistreatment of assets seem like that much of a crime now that he'd been faced with betrayal? “Would you want to see the culmination of your endeavors driven into the ground...?”

A rhetorical question of course, which worked out well considering the lack of prospective response. “No...” Graft whispered. A company was a like a ship. When it was going under, and the chain of command fell through for the sake of survival, there existed only two kinds of people: sinkers, and swimmers. Rodias was supposed to swim, but he chose to sink. The king meant to lift Gothika up became an anchor to weigh it down. A couple seconds passed before he cleared his throat. “The resignation of Rodias has been tendered and accepted. With it, the dissolution of the Board is complete. Yet its legacy will live on through its successors. I have already started down your path, my lords. Now I will follow in your footsteps.”

The images disappeared, and he turned away.

---

After just a couple moments the scan completed. Graft nodded in satisfaction. “Forty-five and forty-five. You're dead even. Anything to report?”

Standing side by side especially, Papillary and Tabula looked very different. Before, Tabula had been nothing but soft and dumb, but now she looked like a fighter, a real priestess of war. Papillary, meanwhile, had continued to develop nothing but her HP, and looked like a bloated sack of meat stuffed into a mightily-stretched doctor's garb. She stood half a head taller than Tabula now, and at least three times as wide. A dozen gallons of blood coursed through her with every beat of her heart-head. Before Graft stood a strong beauty and a grotesque monstrosity, each well-suited for her purpose.

Papillary replied first, her voice a bit deeper than before. “Yes, sir. Both of us experienced severe diminishing returns on the way to forty-five. We agree that it'll take exponentially longer to keep growing from here.” She both looked and sounded haggard.

Graft crossed his arms. “That'll be because our Team Leads, the strongest of my generic employees, are uniformly level forty. My research on the development processes of the Supreme Beings indicated they must continue to seek stronger and stronger opponents, with the rewards increasing drastically. In fact, I found several records of complaints that in some cases it takes more total work to go from a level like fifty to fifty-one than it took to go from one to fifty.”

Both underlings groaned; their training had already been arduous. Graft chuckled. “Now, now! Don't you have any faith in your Director, girls? With my Trading Commission proposal on ice, and no new orders coming in, I've had a lot of time to figure out a better way to make you stronger. Walk with me!” In a flourish Graft stood up from his desk and stalked toward the door, walking with his cane. Tabula followed right after him, excitement writ on her features, while Papillary huffed and puffed as she struggled to keep up. Graft led to the way to the Factory's west wing, where he picked out one chamber in particular. The bio-scanner peered at him closely before sliding open the door, and Graft waltzed right inside. There was a momentary delay as Papillary struggled to squeeze through. “Hmm, we'll have to get that widened,” he murmured, before clearing his throat. “Anyway, feast your eyes upon my latest and greatest innovation. This...is the Experience Farm.”

The huge room stood as nothing less than an epitome of the Factory's design. The dull green of its metal, on every inch of its walls and even the floor, curved and swung in organic formations. Dozens of pens lined its walls on two separate floors in neat rows, their gates clasped together like interwoven fingers. Support pillars stretched from floor to ceiling like giant limbs, their gnarled, finger-like flanges eternally locked on their purchases. Wonderful in its order, horrific in its uncanniness, the place was a cathedral of living matter, and in it would sound a bloody hymn.

Neither Tabula or Papillary, already pretty used to this sort of thing thanks to the rest of the Factory, spared much attention to the architecture. They looked instead at the things inside the pens. They contained monsters of every shape and size, many of them strong-looking indeed. “Impressive, yes?” Graft asked, smiling toothily from ear to ear. “I secured these beasts from Kaldorna's pens. They run the gamut of strength from levels forty to seventy.”

“Whoa...” Tabula breathed. She approached one of the pens, inside which a many-legged lizard three times the size of an alligator could be found. Its appearance made her giggle. “What could she have demanded in return for all these?”

Graft leaned on his cane. “I'm glad you asked! In exchange for these creatures I offered to eliminate her fodder problem. I took several specimens gathered from the local region and bioengineered them extensively, utilizing Light and Gromgard's findings on IIHM, or insanity-induced mutation. The result...” From his mask's holographic lens he projected an image of a nightmarish monstrosity. “The Inexhaustible Thing, or IT, for short. IT is a ravenous organism with remarkable regenerative abilities and a truly exceptional digestive system, quite possibly my finest yet. As long as it is continuously fed anything with nutrients, it remains docile and will regrow any tentacles that are cut off, which serve as fine meat for beasts. So, it's essentially a living garbage disposal and infinite food stock all in one! Brilliant, huh?” He shrugged. “Of course, it's not recommended for consumption by anything sapient. I'm pretty sure that if a sapient being were to eat IT's meat, they'd go bananas before becoming an IT themselves. But hey, that's progress for you! And...I'm pretty sure I told Kaldorna and her crew about that, so it's nothing to worry about...probably.”

Papillary and Tabula exchanged a worried glance.

“Moving on!” Graft continued. “Defeating Farm animals will serve as your training regimen to take you higher. Each pen is equipped with Emel Shells and Softening Gel sprayers that will make the animals easier to kill, since status effects do not effect experience rewards. I do not recommend getting Softening Gel on yourselves unless you have the whole day free.” He took a moment to chuckle. “The Farm's not ready just yet, since I'm still compiling their data. Once I'm done, this room will automatically collect their remains, feed them into production, and create eggs that will be shipped back here and hatched into new, fast-growing instances for fresh slaughter. In this way, the Farm will feature an endless supply of enemies to farm for experience.”

As messed up as the whole thing was by conventional standards, it didn't really surprise Tabula and Papillary all that much. “Incredible!” the Nightgaunt remarked. “This should make getting stronger remarkably easy. And when we begin experiencing diminishing returns, we just move up to the next, higher-level monster, right?”

Graft clapped her and Papillary on the shoulders, his cane held by a tendril. “Exactly right! It'll take some doing, but we'll be working at maximum efficiency!”

If Papillary had an eyebrow, she would have raised it. “We?”

“Oh, yes,” Graft said, his voice low. He stepped back and bowed, a number of ripjaws emerging from beneath his overcoat. “It's well past time I started pushing forward as well. I will be training alongside you in the future, when my other duties allow me the time.”

Tabula looked happy. “That is wonderful! It will be the first time we fight alongside one another, in a way. I will look forward to it.”

“Excellent.” For a moment, Graft looked happy as well. Then his eyes turned toward the pens again. “Let me give you the run-down, before we go. The animals are sorted by level, ascending from left to right, bottom to top. First we have the Dagonians, at level fifty.” He pointed out the bipedal, marine monsters in pens one and two. “Then the Carrion Fiends, fifty-two. Your Sand Dragons, Tabula, fifty-four. Venobeasts, fifty-six. Scikords, fifty-eight. Scidrawds, sixty. Moldmouldra, sixty-two. Volt Manticores, sixty-four. Smilodons, sixty-six.Tormentors, sixty-eight. Ruby Hydras, seventy. Nice bunch, huh?”

Tabula seemed to be staring at the Venobeasts. “I cannot say I like that one, no sir.”

Once he followed her gaze, Graft found himself agreeing. “Hm, yes. They're hardly pleasant to look at, but prime subjects for you to improve your Faith with by curing those it poisons. All in due course, naturally. You have a promotion in order soon, right, Tabula?”

The Nightgaunt nodded emphatically, just now remembering after all the stimuli she'd taken in. “Yes, I do. Now that I have ten levels in Paladin, I can work with Aurora to promote to Bishop.”

“Excellent,” Graft said again. He turned and started toward the door, ready to leave the roars and shrieks of the Farm animals behind. “Let's be off, then. There's much to do, and not nearly enough time to do it in.”

Ashara offered no input to the conversation that had gone on back at the Climax Hour. She merely listened to what the others had said, and it seemed only three of their allies had spoken up - and none of them had done anything to improve the situation. Criticism, berating, off-handed insults, I-can-do-better suggestions... It was the first meeting since they came to the world, in repeat, but with less participants voicing their opinions. The fox merely closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Once Rodias called the meeting to a close and dismissed everyone, Ashra turned to look at Gromgard.

"I believe our mission is done, sir Gromgard. We should return home." She said, a certain melancholic ring to her otherwise pleasant voice.

She did not like this. Not one bit. Their lord was in pain and had become upset, both from the suffering his subordinates had suffered, and because of his own inability to carry out his role as he wished. Yet none of the others seemed to be able to see this, none of them were even trying to emphatize or understand him. Instead they hurled their hurtful words and selfish ideas at him, when he so graciously gave them permission to speak freely and without fear of reprimand, they all just took advantage of it.

It was not often Ashara felt outright disdain for others - not even her enemies. But in this instance, at this moment, she felt incredibly disappointed. Not in her Master, no, but in the Chapter Keepers and other members of the Chateau. That included herself of course. She had not spoken up to defend or encourage her Lord, even though he must've been in so much pain. She was angry, a rare thing indeed - but more so at herself than anything or anyone else. Perhaps if she hbeen able to deal with the cutlists faster, she could've returned to aid her Master? Or if someone else had been sent instead of her, she could've defended the Castle?

Shaking her head, her white hair flowed gently. Regret was pointless. You could agonize over mistakes and what you hadn't done for an eternity, and it would change nothing. For now, all she could do was return to the Chateau and do her best to help the others recover from the aftermath of this whole ordeal. Not that she could offer or do much, but surely there was something she could do, for someone.

---

Meanwhile, at the Climax Hour...

Mikoto and the other priestesses had stood silent and immobile during the entire meeting. They had said nothing. Done nothing. Merely observed and listened. When Rodias dismissed the entirety of the present individuals, the golden-haired three-tailed fox turned to her peers and clapped her hands twice to garner their attention.

"Alright,y ou hear our Lord. Himiko, Kyoko, Akiko and Reiko, help carry the little ones back to the Shrine. The rest of you, hurry back ahead of us and prepare the grounds and beds." She ordered, all of her fellow miko responding with a firm 'Yes!', in almost perfect unison.

As the four oldest shrine maidens scooped up and gave the yuongset ones piggy-back rides, Mikoto stayed behind to watch all of her fellow maidens leave. Once they were all out of the Climax Hour, she cast a glance first at Salem - her ruby-red eyes showing a great deal of contempt as she gazed the doll's way.

"I don't know how your Creator treated you, Lord Salem." She said. "But our lady treasured and treated each and everyone of us with love and care. So please don't try and find skeletons in a closet that's empty, simply because your own maker didn't cherish you." She closed her eyes and sighed, her expression softening slightly, though remained stern and serious still. "It's rather rude to make assumptions about those you never deigned to interact with." She finished.

She then threw a judgemental look at both Graft and Kaldorna, but said nothing to either of them. Instead, she merely bowed, as was customary, and excused herself. Unlike Ashara, who could keep her composure and thoughts clean and serene, Mikoto was a far more open and expressive person. Unlike the head priestess, Mikoto had a sense of pride and love for both her family, her creator and the Chateau as a whole, and did not appreciate when ill things were said about any of them. Still, as the second-in-command of the Shadowtower Shrine, she still managed to maintain her cool and probably hadn't said everything, or what she actually meant, she meant to say.

Meanwhile, the eight ESPER Wings still present in the room hovered silently above the ground, their magiaclly ccreated wings humming softly like fluorescent lights. Once it became clear that nobody else was going to do or say anything of importance, one of them turned its head to the others.

"Unit Mjolnir will now assume command. All units return to the Chamber of Imaginary Numbers to resume regular operations."

The other seven merely nodded, and then they were off. Like a stream of azure light, they zoomed out of the Climax Hour's open window and returned to their own Chapter without any further interactions with the others.

The one ESPER who had been gravely wounded by Morgan's attack much earlier was now, with the help of one of the Cleric-leveled ESPERs, making their way back to the Chateau. Of course, further repairs would be necessary to fully restore it, but for now, it had miraculously survived, thanks in no small part to its sister-automaton.

Charme let out a jet of white smoke from between her lips, drumming her fingers of the other free hand against the rough surface of the shoddy nightstand in their crummy inn-room. She stared at the night sky outside, with eyes that seemed to be drifting off and looking into space, not focusing on anything in particular. However, even if her gaze seemed distant and aloof, the fact that she was drumming her fingers in a fixed rhytmic fashion, and the fact that a scowl as well as a small, pulsing vein on her left temple, seemed to indicate that she was very much still present in the current world.

Crapyy-ass doll.. I should melt it and that whole junkyard down with some acid once I get back... And Kaldrona, you foolish girl, what good would a council do? If you children can't play nice with one another as is, what good would giving you all figure-head positions of power do? You can't even follow orders and instructions, you go about doing whatever you please and you plot and scheme for yourselves... Morons.

These were the kind of thoughts that occupied Charme's mind for the most part, after Rodias had dismissed the collect-call and meeting. Of course, the homunculus was a sharp one, and she had picked up both on Ashara's subtle voicing of her opinion, as well as Graft's grumbling, self-gratifying sulking about his own pivotal importance. Had she been a lesser woman, the alchemist would likely have thrown a fit and thrashed this shitty excuse for a room in a violent outburst. Luckily, she wasn't the kind to do so, not to mention Kath was here with her... For all the great help that one was... You'd think with all the books and tomes she had poured over for years on end, she'd be a bit more capable and brainy than she actually was. Charme shot her roommate a discontent glance, before returning to stare out the window.

Now, there were two paths she could take. The smart option was to ignore Rodias' orders about exploring the city, learning about it and finding a way to make money, and return home to the Chateau. Charme could easily surmise that, given how the meeting had gone, the ones staying at home were not going to take the situation all too well. In fact, now more than any other time, they were likely to make stupid decisions and get foolish ideas in their heads. They would perhaps lash out or begin trying to spin webs and ploys for themselves. It was the natural course, after all, since they were all imbecilles who wouldn't see the bigger picture.

Her other choice was to honor Rodias' orders, and remain in the city with Kath and do her assigned duties. This task was the less bright option, as it would serve no further purpose than to satisfy Rodias' curiosity. However, it did hold one, superior merit that defying her Master's orders did not. It would serve to reinforce her loyalty to Rodias, and the Chateau. If she took action and did as she pleased, even if it was the objectively better option, she wouldn't be any better than the groaning, moaning and selfish children back home.

It was a shame really. Had she had access to more resources and materials before she left on this stupid errand, she could've set up counter-measures or some kind of preventive measures to keep the others in check while she was absent. Alas, she had neither had the resources nor the time to prepare any such matters, and she certainly hadn't expected the Chateau to come under attack so soon and so suddenly. Now everythign was a mess and those idiots back home were just going to make matters worse. She sighed and tapped her pipe against the window-sill.

"Kath." She said suddenly, her voice dry and serious. "What'll you do now, dear?" She asked. "Will you rush back to the Chateau tomorrow? Or will you carry out Rodias' orders, despite the situation at home?" She asked, slowly turning her head to look at the dragonoid librarian.

Unlike her usual appearance, Charme's face was looking rather strict and perhaps even a bit intimidating - although that could just be attributed to the poor lighting and overall mood of the situation.

"... Think about that, will you? I'm going to sleep I believe." She said, a sour tinge to her voice, ashe closed the window after putting out her pipe. She then proceeded to lay down on one of the itchy, prickly hay-lined beds with shoddy, burlap-like sheets. Yep, this was a bad night that was just getting worse. Likelihood of getting any sleep tonight? Close to zero.

The battle post-mortem ended on a wholly unsatisfying note. It was clear Graft wanted changes as Salem did, but the director had fallen silent and merely waited for everyone to leave. If anyone agreed with Salem's opinion, they hadn't voiced it, nor come together to find a way to move on from the shackles of the past. If anything, one of the Shrine's mikos dared confront Salem. Hovering, Salem had merely looked down at her wordlessly, wondering if it wasn't better to be rid of an abusive creator, than to have lost a loving one? A question that would have to be explored at a later time, as Rodias slinked off to resurrect Ratta, and Salem went on to fulfill their promised mission of retrieving Isolde.

Salem started by heading to the Chamber of Imaginary Numbers, where the doll found the ESPER Wings, and inquired about Isolde's last reported location. Given the ESPER Wings more straightforward AI, they didn't offer to help retrieve Isolde, which suited Salem just fine as it gave the doll time for a ponderous hover through the forests surrounding the Chateau, something the doll had only glimpsed briefly through the eyes of the deployed replica rats and birds during the little spies' journeys to Amberden. Still, finding Isolde wasn't exactly a quick affair; Salem didn't speak 'fighter pilot' and the directions the ESPER Wings gave involved 'headings', degrees, 'clicks', and clock numbers. But a woman-sized statue in the middle of a forest wasn't too hard to spot, especially after Salem stumbled across the fairly narrow but long swath of destruction that Isolde and Morgan's flight-path had wrought. Despite being petrified, Isolde maintained excellent posture, contrary to how people were usually depicted when being turned to stone; cringing in fear. Right before lifting Isolde up for transport, Salem humorously remembered how Isolde had reacted suspiciously and guardedly to the assumption of having been touched while unconscious by Rodias and having her 'chastity' spoiled. Of course, Salem wasn't going to 'touch' Isolde at all; the image of Salem using their arms to carry Isolde by gripping under her armpits was incredibly embarrassing and demeaning to Salem. Making a motion of their hand, Salem instead lifted Isolde off the ground using telepathy, and floated her back to the castle to seek out Aurora, who had seen her fair share of visitors today, but that was the lot in life of healers. However, Salem didn't need Aurora's skills, merely access to her stores of potions, finding the panacea that the late Mamoru clone had applied to Rodias to rid him of his petrification. Uncorking it, Salem unceremoniously poured the contents out over Isolde's head, and left Isolde in Aurora's care; besides, Salem had a bone to pick with a certain fox priestess.

Arriving at the entrance to the Shadowtower Shrine, Salem knocked politely, announcing their arrival. No doubt, Ashara would have returned by now, which was exactly what Salem wanted.

The floating doll's arrival had not gone unnoticed. But unlike most other guests, who would receive a formal reception from all of - or most of - the priestesses at the shrine, nobody seemed to have bothered to come greet Salem as they arrived. Then again, the battle with Morgan and the whole ordeal at the Climax Hour hadn't been long ago, and many of the miko who had partaken in Mikoto's communal prayer were likely fast asleep or recovering at the moment. In fact, barely any of the priestesses were even out and about, and those who were seemed extremely preoccupied.

As Salem knocked on the door to the head shrine, there was a muffled call from inside, followed by soft footsteps. The main shoji-styled screen door slid open without a fuss, and Salem was greeted by a familiar face - Mikoto. At first, the three-tailed blonde fox-girl seemed surprised, blinking a few times as to assure herself that the person in front of her was actually there. Soon thereafter though, her expression turned from questioning to a more stern and apparently discontent one.

"Lord Salem... What brings you here?" Mikoto asked, not having opened the doorway fully, nor moving aside to allow entrance, nor had she let go off the door either - ready to slide it shut at a moment's notice again.

Salem hadn't expected to immediately meet the very shrine maiden that gave the doll lip earlier, but Salem cracked the widest grin the doll could manage to hide any expression of surprise. Salem was actually here to make an attempt to make amends, but that didn't mean Salem couldn't be creepy about it, and keep some of the doll's monstrous dignity. "I've finally 'deigned' to visit the Shadowtower Shrine!" Salem announced bombastically, but then quickly adopted a more metered tone, "But defensive sarcasm aside, your words in the Climax Hour made me think that perhaps I haven't done my part to keep this rickety chateau from falling to pieces. In fact, the only Chapter besides my own that I've visited is The Factory, and well, that ended poorly, and is part of the reason I see 'skeletons in closets', as it were."

"Or nightgaunts in closets," Salem thought to themself, though at this point, Salem had all but openly accused Brushen Penn of abusing Tabula for sport, and wondered if there was even still a point in keeping their word to not air out the dirty laundry of Graft's creator.

"BUT! I shouldn't let one sour interaction prevent me from still trying, should I? And if we're going to keep this ship afloat, we're going to have to work together, so I figured the first thing I could do is apologize for indiscriminately slinging mud at Lady Deka_Ribbon." of course, Salem had already forgiven themself of trying to blackmail Graft, which was what led Graft to insult Salem in the first place, but such was the whimsy of a childish doll. "Of course, given the state of things, since I'm here, I would like to speak with Lady Ashara and probe her thoughts."

Mikoto listened to Salem's words, yet her face and demeanor didn't change. Although for most an actual apology from Salem would be cause for alarm, it was hard to tell what she was thinking, but it seemed she either didn't believe Salem was sincere, or she was just unwilling to give up her apparent discontent at his presence. Of course, it could also just have been a matter of selfishly wanting to spend time with Ashara, now that she had returned from her mission with Gromgard and Chompy Bits. Still, before the blonde fox could speak, a voice from deeper inside the head shrine called out.

"Mikoto? Do we have a guest?" The unmistakable voice of Ashara called out. This caused the fox in the doorway to sigh, and slide the door open, relinquishing entry to the floating doll.

"Yes, milady. Lord Salem is here to visit you." Mikoto called back, before turning to look at Salem and making a motion with her hand to invite him in. "If you're here to meet Lady Ashara, follow me." She said, with the bare amount of politeness she needed.

Salem would thus be led into the shrine. It was a simple yet elegant place. The woodwork of the floor, walls and ceiling were all very intricate and detailed, yet did not stand out as flashy or gaudy, but not overly simple or rustic either. There were small, ornate decorations around as well of course, like painted vases on small pedestals, calligraphy paintings on the walls and of course, the colored paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Salem was led through two hallways, before finally reaching another set of screen doors, that Mikoto opened for him, though she entered in front of him and took a step to the side, standing next to the wall just inside the doorway.

Sitting in this central room, was Ashara. Sitting on her knees as usual, she had disrobed her haori, which hung around waist and legs like a blanket or towel. Fortunately, with the combination of her long hair, and the convenient placement of some of her many tails, she was covering up her bouncy bits so as to not look indecent in front of her guest. Well, indecent as in completely exposed and naked. Notably though, she seemed to have some kind of oil or lotion smeared on either side of her torso, and there were a set of red marks along the side of her ribs - likely from the squeezing she had received from the cult leader earlier today.

At Salem's entrance, Ashara smiled and politely bowed her head slowly.

"Welcome, Lord Salem. What might bring you by these parts at this hour?" She said, raising her head and smiling sincerely, with her snow white hair gently framing her face.

"Lord Salem said he deigned to finally visit us, and wished to speak with you, milady." Mikoto said, obviously irritated by Salem's earlier choice of words, not seeming to have acknowledged it as a sarcastic joke.

"Oh, is that so?" Ashara didn't seem to catch on to Mikoto's sour disposition or insinuating cadence. "Well then, go ahead and ask away, Lord Salem. I shall do my best to answer whatever inquiries you may have." The nine-tailed fox said earnestly, smiling at the Chapter Keeper without nothing but genuine earnestness.

Upon arriving at the central room and noticing Ashara in a state of undress, Salem quickly rotated their body to face away. As someone designed with a penchant for pretending to be human, Salem had to understand human standards of decency. Though Ashara's obscured nudity did not bother Salem, Salem assumed that Ashara, as a shrine maiden, valued her chastity. Hell, even Isolde valued hers even though she, like Salem, was a construct. If nothing else, it could at least be taken as a sign of respect, something that seemed to be sorely lacking in the Chateau recently. Granted, Salem was not really in a place to criticize others for irreverence, but if the doll wanted to make things work again, someone had to start showing some willingness to bend and give.

But as Mikoto explained Salem's reason for being here, Salem silently raised an eyebrow at her, wondering if she had missed the point of the doll using those words because she had used them to accuse Salem prior. "Your maiden speaks true," Salem began, deciding to just drop the issue of word choice, "Though I had no idea that you had sustained such injuries. I didn't think anything out there could pose a threat to you, and even if it did, I had thought Lord Gromgard would do his job and keep you protected." Salem slapped themself on the forehead; so much for having 'resolved' to be more respectful to the peers of the Chateau. "If this is a bad time, I can come back at a later date, but given that you were likely part of Graft's Collect Call, you no doubt heard what happened during the attack and the...discussion that occurred afterwards. I assume you have your own opinions on the matter, and given the fractured state of the Chateau, I think it's important now that all voices are heard."

Once Salem had voiced their initial statement, Ashara simply kept smiling at the floating doll.

"There are plenty of people and things stronger than I, Lord Salem. These injuries are just proof that I was foolish and reckless, nothing more." The fox unabashedly stated, putting no blame on Gromgard - despite his rather miniscule contribution in the fight. At the further comment about the collect call and the proceedings there within, Ashara's smile faded somewhat though, but still remained.

"Yes, I did. To my ears, it was quite similar to the first meeting that Lord Rodias called when we first arrived in this strange new world." She said, almost in a reminiscent fashion as if her mind was taking a stroll down some long lost memory-lane. "But I am afraid I do not quite understand what it is you wish to hear from me." Ashara then added, looking at Salem with a slightly puzzled expression.

Salem scratched the back of their head, Ashara wasn't giving the doll much to work with here, "You're right it's like the first meeting, which means that we're essentially back to where we started. Worse off, if you think about it, because at least during the first meeting, Lord Rodias had at least asserted himself and assigned us all tasks; this time he's just...moping. I don't have a good head for administration. Despite being a Chapter Keeper, the City of Lost Things sort of just runs itself. So I can't come up with any solutions to the fact that our Chateau is falling apart. In my opinion, there are several individuals who do have the administrative capability, but those individuals, unfortunately, include Graft and Chuunitrixx, who seem to want to just go it alone and do their own thing. Graft won't work with you unless you sell your soul to him, and Chuunitrixx is...touchy? I don't know what her deal is. The other two in my mind are Kaldorna and Mamoru, but Kaldorna's suggestion for a council won't currently work since I doubt Graft and Chuunitrixx will agree to sit at Kaldorna's table, and while Mamoru might administer her maids and butlers well enough, her inherent laziness leaves something to be desired. To be frank, I want to support Kaldorna, but I'm afraid that doing so will only further alienate Graft and Chuunitrixx, so I am trying to survey the members of the Chateau, starting with the least belligerent, that is, you." After finishing, Salem clenched and unclenched their fist while looking at it, a light rattling could be heard throughout Salem's body as the parts connected only through telekinesis impinged on each other. Salem was nervous and agitated, and not doing a great job of hiding it. Salem pretended not to care about Bandersnatch or the Sable Lords, but the Chateau was home, and despite themself, Salem was attached to this place and couldn't bear the thought of losing it.

"I am afraid I do not have much in the way of a solution, Lord Salem." Ashara said apologetically, as she looked at the doll with sincerity. "My duty has always been to patrol the Chateau and assist in any possible way I can, when the time or situation requires me to. I have no experience or knowledge about governance or leadership, for that was not what I was born for." The nine-tailed fox explained. She looked over to Mikoto, who was still standing to the side of the doorway, back against the wall, and smiled. Then she looked back to Salem.

"However, what I can say is that I believe the discord within our walls stem from this newfound and so-called freedom of ours." She paused momentarily, her many tails gently swaying to and from as she thought of her next words. "My duty is, and has always been, very obvious. Lady Deka_Ribbon went to great lengths to ensure that I understood and had a firm and clear understanding of what she expected from me... From all of us." She glanced at Mikoto again. "I cannot speak for the rest of our fellow Chateau-residents however. I do not know how their creators instructed them nor to what degree they taught and disciplined their creations. But it would seem, at least in my own eyes, that many of our peers have their own idea of what or how the Chateau should be run and ruled." Her words trailed off.

Ashara didn't often speak this much. She also usually didn't talk about others in a way that would paint them negatively. Although, in truth, her words weren't really meant as insults or criticisms, but rather her view and feelings on how the others were acting. The fox-girl wasn't a person of particular influence or power, nor was she ever intended to be - Ashara was, in a sense, just a highly skilled soldier when you boiled things down to the most simple terms. She had no knack for politics or diplomacy, because she wasn't designed for those things.

"However." Ashara then added, straightening her posture and looking Salem in the eye - their true eye, the true Salem. "There is one thing I can tell you for certain, Lord Salem. Just as I swore at the first meeting. Lord Rodias has mine, and the whole of the Shadowtower Shrine's, complete loyalty. No matter what, he is the only Master we will ever serve." Ashara's words were very resolute and full of conviction. It was clear that despite how Rodias may have shrunk and appeared weak in the eyes of the other members of the Chateau, Ashara's opinion of the dhampir had not faltered in the slightest. Her devotion and allegiance was undeniable. She smiled then, a gentle and warm smile.

"After all, he is our dear Lady's precious and cherished friend."

Ashara's point about the purpose of her creation made Salem visibly uncomfortable. Salem's purpose wasn't so clear-cut, and had changed from moment to moment depending on Dr.Drd's mood. Even if Salem's purpose was more well-defined, did Salem really want to be restricted to a role assigned by someone like Dr.Drd?

When Ashara spoke directly to the Eye of Dread, Salem surmised that she was suspecting the doll of disloyalty and insurrection. Salem couldn't deny that the thought was being considered, but as far as Salem was concerned, there were other, more pressing internal threats. "Well, that's the thing, I'm sure everyone wants to help and support Lord Rodias, but everyone's got their own funny way of going about it, haven't they? Chuunitrixx loves Rodias to death, but will point her gun at everyone in the Cheateau at little to no provocation and continues to expand to the point of choking out the other Chapters. Graft worships Rodias as a member of his precious 'Board', yet constantly seems to be 'testing' Rodias in some manner, while holing himself up in his laboratory, strengthening his new pet. Your passive loyalty means nothing in the face of our more ambitious colleagues. Combine that with Lord Rodias' generally acquiescent nature and we are already seeing that his authority is being severely undermined. If you're waiting for him to tell you what to do, then you'll be waiting until either Graft or Chuunitrixx have taken over the Chateau. Perhaps those are alternatives that I can live with, but I assure you, it is not my disloyalty that you should be questioning."

Salem paused, feeling that they had reached some sort of impasse. "Look, one reason I came here is because of what your little shrine maiden said to me. You, and all of the Shadowtower Shrine apparently, love Lady Deka_Ribbon. Your maiden accused me of looking for 'skeletons'. Perhaps, but I have three strong pieces of evidence to suggest that the Sable Lords were not all saints. Rodias idolizes the other Sable Lords, and claims to cherish us as their children. But I know for a fact that many of the Sable Lords hated each other, or at least had very strong disagreements; God knows Dr.Drd hated everything, it's probably why he disappeared first. But maybe, as 'superior' beings, despite their differences, they were able to work together, and Rodias is probably hoping that despite our differences, we can work together too. And we did in the past, when we were held on such short leashes by our creators, but now with them gone, it is becoming increasingly glaring that they poured all their spite and arrogance into our creation, and none of the cooperativeness. Well, for some of us at least, maybe Lady Deka_Ribbon was the exception, or maybe Dr.Drd and the others were the exceptions. The point is, until Lord Rodias wakes up from this delusion, he will forever be bound by this vain hope that we'll all come together without his intervention. If we really are the 'children he adopted from his friends', then...he needs...to start...disciplining his children..."

Why won't you work the way you're supposed to? I made you perfectly, what's wrong with you? Another failed attempt, destroy it and start over. The other 'Lords' rejected my proposal, you're all useless.

Words flooded Salem's memory. Though Salem didn't particularly like the proposed solution, it was unfortunately the only solution Salem knew. Abuse is, after all, cyclical. "And as someone who has professed undying loyalty to Lord Rodias, and whose job it is to hunt down and destroy threats within the Chateau, you need to act when Lord Rodias is too weak to make a decision, you have a responsibility to discipline Chuunitrixx, and Graft, and Kaldorna...and me...for overstepping our bounds, for behaving in ways that undermine the Lords, for even considering thoughts of insurrection." Salem rattled much more loudly now, and though for the majority of the conversation, the doll had their hands folded behind their back, now they had lost their composure and had their hands out in front of them, palms up, fingers slightly curled, almost pleading.

Ashara looked at Salem, as the doll seemed to grow more and more agitated the longer it spoke. She of course listened to what it had to say, and perhaps she agreed - or at least understood - what the point of its view was. However, what Salem failed to realize was that Ashara was, by nature, neither proactive nor capable of performing the duty he was requesting of her. She closed her eyes, a solemn expression coming over her face, as she opened her eyes and looked at the poor thing before her.

"Lord Salem. Do you believe that complaining about, or arguing with, others mean that you hate them?" She asked, tilting her head slightly to one side. "I cannot speak for the other creators or how they acted, but there were multiple times when our lady Deka_Ribbon was upset and even spoke harshly about the other Sable Lords and members of Bandersnatch. Yet, even so, despite her bouts of anger or displeasure, she remained where, together and by their side." She paused momentarily. "Saying harsh words or being upset with others does not always mean you hate those who have earned your ire. I want to believe that, had your Master, Dr.Dnd, truly hated his fellow Sable Lords and Bandersnatch, he would not have stayed with them as long as he did... Nor would he have bothered to make such an impressive guardian as yourself to keep the Chateau safe." Ashara said, now smiling warmly, in a motherly or perhaps sisterly fashion.

She then proceeded to gently rub the left side of her ribs, making a slightly pained face. It wasn't that the injury was severe or anything, but it stung and felt awkward - a constant irritant that gnawed at the fox. Still, she soon focused back on Salem once more, after having received a worried look from Mikoto.

"As for my duties... Well, I believe you overestimate both my strength and my capabilities, Lord Salem. My duties have always been to guard and protect the Chateau from invaders, not internal strife, and even if I were to pursue investigations of disloyalty, there is very little I could do. Lady Chuunitrix far outmatches me in terms of power, and I am loathe to say so, but I fear she does not hold me in any kind of regard or has any respect for me or my opinion. Lord Graft, on the other hand, I may best in terms of martial prowess, but he is a far wiser and more cunning person than I will ever be. Were he to harbor these thoughts of disloyalty, I dare say I would be unable to spot them, as surely he would simply conceal them in a clever way. And as with lady Chuunitrixx, I fear he does not hold my opinion in very high esteem." She paused and let out a small sigh. "As for Lady Kaldorna, she has many skilled and capable subordinates, along with powerful pets and beasts. She is also quite eccentric and flamboyant, which sad as it may be, makes it very difficult for someone like me to properly gauge her meaning and intent. As such, while it is my duty to protect the Chateau, as far as doing some from any internal threat, I fear that I am woefully inept and unqualified. Ashara finished, apologetically, bowing her head for not being able to live up to Salem's perceived view of her.

Still, what she had said was all true. In a fight, Chuunitrixx could most definitely beat Ashara. Graft was far more intelligent than she was, and Kaldrona was just a big old ball of energy and mystery - at least to Ashara. Still what the doll had said about Rodias did not sit well with the head priestess, so she began to add her final piece.

"Also, while I understand that you wish for swift action from our Lord, please do not be to harsh on him. You must not forget that our Lord Rodias is a kind soul, he has treated us as he has because he wishes to value and show generosity to the creations of his friends. Even if what you say is true, and not all Sable Lords thought so highly of each other, that does not change that Lord Rodias felt that way about them. Even if one side does not reciprocate feelings, that does not make the other's feelings false or meaningless, Lord Salem." Ashara explained her view on the matter. "I would not worry about Lord Rodias' current state. I have faith that he will rise to take charge of the situation." She said, apparently confident that Rodias' bout of depression was going to end on its own. "Besides, if Lord Graft or Chuunitrixx were to ever try and claim the Chateau as you say, well, I would naturally stand in their way, and I am certain that I am not the only one. Lady Isolde, I have found, has always been a strong and adamant ally to all of the Sable Lords and Bandersnatch, unshakable in her resolve and dedication to them. Along with her, I believe, although I have only met her once or twice, that Madame Charme is also a very dedicated and genuine person... Even if she comes off as a bit, well, prickly." Ashara laughed softly at the last part of sentence, as if remembering something amusing.

"Finally, Lady Kath is a wonderful person, who I believe will always stand by the side of our Lord." She paused again, then looked at Salem, her smile full of genuine affection. "And then there is you, Lord Salem. You may speak harshly sometimes, or say things others might question or interpret in a negative light... Yet here you are, showing concern for both our Lord and our home, even going so far as wanting to be observed and reprimanded if need be." Ashara rose, pulling her haori up and getting herself dressed, before walking over to stand next to Salem. "So, even if there are those among our peers who may plot and scheme for what they want the Chateau to be, you need not be overly worried. Our Lord, our home, has many staunch allies and defenders who remain true to it, and to each other. I am certain that Miss Mamoru, Miss Flan, Sir Gromgard, kind Zouyu and even Lady Violet and Sir Talim are all united in their desire to serve Lord Rodias and the Chateau. But if you still have doubts and woes in your heart, good Lord Salem, then I suggest you visit them as you did with me, and hear their thoughts and voices." The fox smiled. "After all, you are far more capable of seeing others' intent than I."

Salem fell silent. The doll wanted to object to so many things, but Ashara had stated her points quite clearly, and Salem didn't have tear ducts with which to cry. Salem didn't like the waiting, nor the feeling of escalation within the guild, but Ashara's advice to visit the other members was what Salem had planned to do anyways, and perhaps it was too early to choose a solution before having acquired sufficient information.

Salem finally heaved a deep sigh, as if in relief. "There's so much suspicion going around right now, that I'm afraid a visit from me will be taken as a spying attempt, though I would be a hypocrite if I didn't recognize my own suspicions. But visiting the others was my plan before this, so I might as well follow through with it." Salem looked around at the shrine's elegance. "If nothing else, I'll get to see the artistry and craftsmanship that our creators put into the various Chapters of the Chateau, though I doubt anywhere is as nice as here." Salem gave Ashara a rare, soft, weak smile, devoid of sarcasm. The doll looked over at Mikoto, and silently bowed their head slightly in acknowledgement and apology, then turned back to Ashara. "Well, thank you...for your time and our advice. I'll be taking my leave now."