Lugubrious

Umbra Rose Condos

I'd volunteer for Khalid to talk to Ryu, but she went to the building 1 restaurant, while he remained in building 3, so maybe another time.

World of Light: the Endless Now

The Avenger

Lvl 14 Ms Fortune (79/140) Lvl 8 Goldlewis (102/80) Lvl 7 Sandalphon (15/70) Lvl 2 Grimm (14/20)
Midna, Junior, Rika & Edward’s @DracoLunaris Blazermate, Sectonia & Roland’s @Archmage MC Geralt, Zenkichi & Edelgard’s @MULTI_MEDIA_MAN Ace Cadet, Pit, Primrose & Therion’s @Yankee Juri’s @Zoey Boey Roxas, Ganondorf, & Captain Falcon’s @Double Venom Snake’s @DisturbedSpec the Witch’s @Drifting Pollen
Word Count: 3192

Once Ace left, Nadia made a beeline for her bed to try and settle down. After an encounter like that, though, her heart still raced, and she couldn’t pretend that nothing had happened, especially with Blazermate right there as a witness. Given the small size of these rooms, there wasn’t much chance of avoiding either her or her inevitable commentary track. Nadia wasn’t about to be ashamed of her newfound happiness, but it was still a little embarrassing that her roommate caught them red-handed like that, even if the feral acted otherwise. While Blazermate made ominously cryptic utterances about something called the internet, Nadia got to her feet to change for bed. Considering that Blazermate had signed on as her wingman way back in Limsa Lominscuttle Town, the feral thought that her friend might be a little happier for her, but she supposed that at this time of the night even the most genial gynoid could get a bit cranky.

Nadia’s quick change amounted to little more than removing her button-up and throwing on a comfortable crop top, but now that her adrenaline had begun to subside, even such a small task reminded the catgirl just how tired she really was. As romantic as it would be for that kiss to keep her up all night, it felt more like she’d pass out any second now. The hours spent swimming and catching fish in the Blue Hole were taking their toll, and between the Battle Royal Rumble and her beef with Juri, Nadia had no more fight left in her today. She couldn’t fret about tomorrow or indulge in existential angst even if she wanted to. Practically the second she hit the sack, the feral gave up the ghost and sank into a deep, velvety, dreamless sleep. In seconds, the room she shared with Blazermate was silent but for the burglar’s soft snoring.

Despite the feral’s propensity for speed, a neighbor several doors down had beaten her to slumberland by almost half an hour, sleeping so soundly that the momentary commotion in the hallway failed to rouse her whatsoever. Following her impromptu appointment with her fellow night owl Dr. Yu, with a guest appearance by Eleison since he happened to be up late, the two healers had agreed to send Sandalphon to bed early by every means at their disposal. Rather than another few hours of caffeine-induced activity, the archangel desperately needed rest, and to pick up much healthier eating habits. Since Sandalphon had already amply demonstrated that she couldn’t be trusted to take care of herself, the medics opted to make the decision for her. With Zenkichi waiting in the wings anyway to make sure his friend was alright before retiring himself, Eleison gave him instructions for the archangel to follow, then entrusted him with the task of carrying Sandalphon through the ship for a second time and laying her to rest.

So far, Sandalphon seemed to be resting well. Prior to the fusions that instilled in her an unmistakable human element, she could not ever recall having dreams, but the archangel was having one now. In her subconscious mind, she beheld visions of cobblestone streets, immaculate burgundy-tiled roofs, towering cathedrals, and red banners aflutter in the breeze. Birds sang, ordinary people bustled to and fro, and the wind whispered in the leaves. This could only be Grams, hailed by many as the greatest, fairest city-state on the face of Grastaea. Her home. Though she could logically deduce that this vision must be a dream, Sandalphon clung to it jealously. Her dream’s plot dictated that she followed a certain path, and so she did, but she lingered at every corner and conversation. Her powers of perception and recall allowed her subconscious to recreate this familiar route in painstaking detail, so real it hurt. Only now that she’d begun to truly experience her own emotions could she realize just how much she missed this place, and the people within it. This overpowering homesickness was the same feeling she felt down in Arahabaki, freshly awoken in the wake of her fusions with Pavarti and Leanne, but subsequently buried to stem the flow of unfamiliar tears. It was terribly bittersweet.

Eventually, Sandalphon found herself at the arranged place, a high-class tavern in Grams’ upper district. It was a special occasion, the celebration of yet another major operation achieved by the Apostles, and everyone was in attendance. Sandalphon looked around at each inseparable pair, studying them in turn. The brilliant but lazy Nevan, self-styled as Papa Bear, wore a mischievous grin as usual as he used an embarrassing story to tease the youngest member, the adorably self-serious Sylvan Pinon. Their pactbound archangels couldn’t help but be amused, but while the motherly Gabriel only fussed over her ‘daughter’, the studious but snarky Ramiel attempted to blunt his partner’s antics. The diminutive apostle Faris pretended to be above it all, quietly giving the others the side-eye as he snuck morsels to his pet lizard, while the immense (and immensely serious) Uriel focused on enjoying his meal. Next to them, the remarkably tall and remarkably shy Ryszarda could be counted on to try and shift the topic, while her exuberant partner angel Raphael -who stood a head shorter than the human- exacerbated the situation instead. Last of all, there was Regina. Sandalphon’s pactbound human was a small woman, standoffish, and none too social, but wise–far wiser than Sandalphon herself. Infinitely patient and capable, she was the archangel’s rock, someone Sandalphon depended on and owed everything to. She found herself unable to hold back her tears, and it wasn’t long before they washed the dream away.

Elsewhere, Goldlewis had dreams of his own, but rather than a cohesive chain of remembered events they took the form of garbled, nonsensical, and often dreadful scenes that meshed in and out of one another. Even if this cacophonous tumult of imagery meant something, it would not be remembered. At length, though, the pandemonium gave way to something that Goldlewis could consciously recognize: a familiar place that he hadn’t been to for long, and would never go to again, but would probably never forget. Deep beneath the enormous Shinra Tower in the heart of Midgar, far below even the colossal supercomputer called Arahabaki, he could see a circular arena surrounded by portals into other places, other times. This was where he and the others fought Tycoon, the Guardian of the Dystopiascape. More accurately, it was where they fought Nox and his party, with Tycoon playing the part of stage hazard. However, the rendition of the battle playing out before him looked far more bleak than he remembered. His teammates were dying, one after another. Burned, electrocuted, frozen, shot, stabbed, slashed, and dropped into the pit below, he couldn’t save any of them. Terror and despair clawed at his heart. Surrounded by the corpses of comrades he’d failed to protect, a deathblow from Nox seemed like a mercy. A just reward.

Goldlewis tossed and turned in his sleep, but outside his room, the corridor was still and quiet. For the skeleton crew of Lost Numbers keeping the Avenger aloft, this was the graveyard shift. Even the most playful children and dutiful (but unnecessary) workers had all retired for the night. At first glance, the whole place seemed completely and totally dead. But death was not always the end. Among the shuddering shadows, a solitary figure stalked the halls, literally and figuratively restless, his destination and purpose inscrutable. The intention behind his movements, however, suggested that he wasn’t merely exploring, but searching for something. In the early hours of the morning, his persistence paid off. A sudden flutter of wing heralded the arrival of the Grimmchild, and in its father’s outstretched claw it deposited an agglomeration of curious essence. It burned, but did not consume. It flickered, but it did not light. It danced, but it did not grow weary. Grimm stared at the Nightmare Flame, unblinking, then returned it to the Grimmchild and took his scion under his wing.

”Through dream I travel, at lantern’s call. To consume the flames of a kingdom’s fall.”

---

Rest EXP

Battle Royal Rumble Bounty: All PCs who defeated at least one wrestler
Battle Royal Rumble Reward: 10 EXP
Truck Crab Bounty: Bowser Junior, Rika, Geralt
Truck Crab Reward: 5 EXP
Rampage Bounty: All PCs who fought against George, Lizzie, or Ralph
Rampage Reward: 10 EXP
Avatar of Corruption Bounty: All PCs who fought against the corruption
Avatar of Corruption Reward: 15 EXP

At six-thirty on the dot, a series of melodic tones began to play in all the rooms occupied by the Seekers, both new and old. The chord progressed quickly, becoming louder, faster, and more insistent, and by the fifteen-second mark only the heartiest sleepers among the heroes could possibly hope to withstand it. Then, with the alarm out of the way, the voice of the Avenger’s resident AI began to play through the intercom in order to deliver the first of many instructions the Seekers would receive today.

“Rise and shine, everyone. It is currently 6:30:20, Tuesday morning. We’re cruising at an altitude of forty thousand feet over the Land of Adventure, headed north. Estimated time of arrival at the Dead Zone is one hour, twenty-nine minutes, twenty seconds. Please report to the Bridge for a mission briefing at exactly six forty-five. Breakfast will be served afterward, and you’ll have the remainder of the time to prepare for the mission. Today we take one more step to saving the worlds!”

Nadia rolled over in bed, an incredulous expression on her face. “Already? It’s so earlyyyyy…” She sighed, sat up, and swung her legs out over the bed. “Well, guess its my fault for goin’ to bed late.” Despite wanting to sleep in, she still felt refreshed by the night’s sleep, so she hopped up to hit the showers before the morning meeting.

Compared to the catgirl, Goldlewis roused himself more deliberately. As a military man he was used to waking up early, but age didn’t make it any easier to greet the new day. Still, this old-timer wasn’t about to let it set in. He got to his feet and began his well-rehearsed ten-minute daily routine, after which he promised to be preened, presentable, and ready for duty.

The veteran arrived at the Bridge a couple minutes early. He found a handful of Seekers and Lost Numbers there already, and while the sight of Grimm in bright light took him somewhat aback, seeing Sandalphon there was hardly a surprise. There was something different about her today, though. For one, she looked much more comfortable than usual, clothed in a form-fitting black turtleneck sweater and full-length black culottes over her white boots in place of her typical formal wear. Her short silver hair was a little messy, and she looked somewhat more relaxed than usual. It was unusual. When she spotted Goldlewis she acknowledged him with a polite nod, but it did little to set the veteran at ease. The archangel he’d come to know was inflexibly selfless, never once considering her own comfort or wellbeing. This was a good change, of course, but still. Who was this and what did she do to Sandalphon…?

Over the course of the next few minutes, twenty more Seekers piled into the room, some -like Nadia- over a minute after the appointed time. The ever-punctual Goldlewis made a mental note of the time on his stopwatch when he finally clicked it, wondering whether or not to bring it up. For now, though, the floor belonged to Sandalphon.

“Good morning,” the archangel greeted everyone, conjuring a handful of screens around her with a wave of her free hand. The other held a thermos of coffee, which according to her doctors would be the only one she could have today. To her that seemed much scarier than what the Seekers had in store for today, but after this briefing the others might not agree.

“Today’s mission is an incursion into the Dead Zone formerly known as Redgraccoon City. Our objective is to find and destroy the Dead Zone’s Guardian. The location of this Guardian has been positively identified for some time, but until yesterday, our forces could not penetrate this area without extreme risk. Please allow me a brief explanation.” She paused to take a sip of coffee. “Last week an annihilation event, hereafter referred to as a ‘voidout’, was triggered in the center of the city, at the base of the demonic tree known as the Qliphoth. This voidout reduced the city to a crater, but the Qliphoth endured. Afterward, the elevated chiralium levels throughout the region gave rise to the phenomenon known as ‘timefall’. This rain has the anomalous property of rapidly aging whatever it touches, organic and inorganic matter alike. Worse still, the timefall heralds the arrival of certain supernatural entities whose nature is still not fully understood at this time. These Beached Things, or BTs for short, are invisible to the naked eye and highly responsive to sound. If able to capture and consume a living thing, the resulting matter-antimatter reaction will trigger another voidout.”

Sandalphon took a deep breath. “These factors together made it impossible to approach the Qliphoth until now. Thanks to the diligent efforts of our engineers and Bridges personnel, however, three developments have been made to enable your mission today.” She turned toward a series of tables set up against one of the walls in the room, each covered in a tarp. The portly coroner, Deadman, pulled off the first one to reveal a bunch of high-tech backpacks. “These personal shield generators, once activated, will project a bubble around your upper body. Since their barriers are energy and not matter, they are immune to the effects of timefall. However, all impacts with the barrier drain its strength, and too much damage will force a temporary shutdown. These should be considered for emergency use only.”

At her prompting, Deadman pulled the second tarp to reveal a large, star-shaped device on a pole, looking like something straight out of a mad science lab. “This is the lynchpin of the operation,” Sandalphon explained. “The Stable Field Emitter. While its internal logic is not fully mapped out, it projects a circular field that weakens ‘supernatural’ effects, nullifying weaker ones outright. This includes the timefall’s aging effect. As you might expect, protecting this device in transport is of vital importance to the mission. Be advised, however, that your own magic and other special abilities will also be weakened in its presence. Once you reach the Qliphoth, you can proceed through the demon tree’s interior without the Stable Field Emitter.”

Sandalphon paused, drinking deep of her coffee, then took a deep breath through her nose. “Finally, we have our third development. Three members of the team will be outfitted with these devices in order to enable the detection of BTs. Otherwise, we all risk running straight into them while approaching the Qliphoth.” When Deadman removed the tarp, the Seekers saw three oblong orange glass pods arranged on the table, all about two feet tall and a foot across. Each one contained some sort of fluid, and an infant, clothed in red, green, pink, and blue. With each came a highly-advanced scanner hooked up to a mechanical arm. “These BBs facilitate a connection with the ‘other side’, allowing them to detect BTs for the user. Thus, they are indispensable equipment, and must also be protected at all costs. Further questions about them will be fielded by Deadman after the operation. By the time we deploy, we will need six volunteers. Four to carry BBs, and two on Stable Field Emitter duty. Using this equipment to reach the Qliphoth is the hard part. Once you’re inside, you will be free to do what you do best.”

Sandalphon set her coffee down and crossed her arms. “This is a blitzkrieg operation. All twenty-four of us will be present. We will weather the storm, enter the Qliphoth, and annihilate the Guardian lurking inside. If Master Hand or Moebius show up on the way, we will destroy them as well.” She nodded at the assembled heroes. “That is all. You are dismissed for breakfast.”

With a rather heavy exhalation, Nadia joined the crowd headed for the mess hall. It lay only one floor down and a short walk away, but the amount of people around (some of them very large) meant that too much haste could cause problems. It hadn’t escaped her that the Life Gem whose essence flowed through her veins and sustained her impossible existence, probably counted as magic that the Stable Field Emitter would suppress. As long as it didn’t fade completely, she figured she should be fine. With so many Seekers present, anything they wound up fighting would be in for a hell of a time. Even if regeneration took longer, there would be ample opportunity in a squadron like that. But until they reached the Qliphoth, they were up against enemies they couldn’t fight. The BTs Sandalphon mentioned honestly creeped her out. If that absurdly immense explosion she witnessed while staying in Limsa, half a continent away, had been a voidout, a single person getting eaten would definitely doom the whole group. Was there really no way to fight these things? Nadia resolved to ask, but as her growling stomach so helpfully reminded her, food came first.

Given today’s mission, breakfast in the mess hall today was quite the occasion. Since the Lost Numbers’ last supply run had been at the Far Far Range, the cafeteria came equipped with a wealth of poultry products and unusual produce. Hungry visitors could pick up plenty of eggs and chicken sausage, and the fruits could be enjoyed as is, while the vegetables could be minced up and either pan-fried or eaten in omelets made to order by the head chef. Bracket Brace herself was there to field requests, the little white rabbit-creature’s positivity positively infectious, and the Lost Numbers in the kitchen were working hard too. Clearly, everyone could expect to eat very well, but there was one problem: space. The mess hall offered four tables that could seat six apiece, with no individual seating anywhere. Unless the diners grabbed their meals and ran, everyone would need to pile in and get cozy with five friends.

An expert at navigating crowds, Nadia made her way to the front of the pack the minute those tantalizing aromas reached her nostrils. As such, she managed to be one of the first to reach the tables. Grimm managed to get his food soon after, but he elected to seat himself at table two with his all-meat platter. When Goldlewis showed up, he decided to join Grimm in an effort to continue his hospitality. Meanwhile, Sandalphon was among the last in line. Given her usual diet of honey and coffee, stuffing herself with meat, fruits, and vegetables didn’t appeal to her all that much, but given her doctors’ insistence the archangel followed her instructions. Even then, however, she somehow reached table four with a number of honey packets for use in sweetening her meal.

Umbra Rose Condos

@Lugubrious
I've suddenly realized that Velvet is likely 100% aware that Khalid isn't a shoggoth. She can smell the stink on him very clearly, but human blood also has a very particular scent that she's intimately familiar with.

@Lemons

I pretty much assumed that everyone would have their own way of instantly figuring him out anyway, so the interesting part will be seeing how that knowledge pans out.

Umbra Rose Condos

Sometimes, when confronted with a serious conundrum, the ‘sleep it off’ strategy worked wonders. Problems that seemed insurmountable at first glance might turn out to be easier than they seemed with a fresh perspective, and along with healing all wounds, time lessened issues’ immediate severity. Daylight could illuminate a path forward that remained hopelessly hidden in the dark. And sometimes, to tackle the task at hand, one just needed more energy.

Unfortunately, Khalid awoke in the morning to find himself not one inch closer to solving the crisis that confronted him the prior evening, and a night of fitful sleep certainly didn’t help. He stirred, groaning, from his spot on the couch and levered himself upright. Once he planted his feet on the bare concrete floor, he placed his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, rubbing and creasing in an attempt to get some much-needed clarity. As always, his room was dingy, humid, and stiflingly warm. The doggedly perseverant supermarket desk fans, which he kept on and pointed at something or another twenty-four seven, helped to an extent, and his old but persistent dehumidifier fought to push back the cloying wetness, but even blanketless and stripped down to his boxers Khalid seldom found relief. It smelled in here, and not just of the variety of homegrown plants bathing beneath their ultraviolet lamps. Instead the musty air here carried a noxious foetor. Some described it as the smell of rotten eggs, but Khalid didn’t think so. To him, it smelled unlike anything else on earth, which was fitting given its origin. Unpleasant? Absolutely. Evil? Possibly. Unbearable? Hardly. This potent cocktail of herbal and antiquarian aromas just took some getting used to, and since it tended to keep his neighbors away, it wasn’t all bad. Even if that odor’s tendency to cling to him as well abbreviated many of his interactions.

Ultimately, as stagnant as this room was, Khalid’s environment wasn’t the issue. Instead, that took the form of the letter sitting on the table in front of him. It came from The Crow, the modern, mixed-media equivalent of a pulp fiction magazine that just so happened to be the man’s place of employment. He’d been working there for almost a year now, long before his arrival in Umbra Rose Condos last month, concocting stories of wildly varying length, subject, manner, and quality, all within the purview of the Crow’s focus on the supernatural, sensational, weird, and wonderful. To most readers and writers, his writings were works of fiction at best, but Khalid knew better. That was his edge, as a scholar of very particular erudition: the well-researched nuggets of truth buried amidst all the absurdities to lend the tales a detailed, fascinatingly grounded air of plausibility that gave his stories some real bite. Unfortunately, The Crow didn’t make much money, so neither did Khalid, and perhaps thanks in part to those tensions, not everyone saw the virtues in his style of penmanship. That included Wesley Barnes, the chief editor, and this letter was from him.

Mr. Alhazred. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, especially considering your situation and the amount of work you do for us, but your submissions to The Crow just aren’t cutting it. When anyone writes in about your stories, or reviews us online, the feedback is primarily negative. For one, you’re too wordy. I’m sure you put in a lot of effort to learn English, but nobody wants to read stuff that makes them feel stupid, or crack open a dictionary. Your writing is old-fashioned, and too technical. There’s too much time spent on trivial details and set-dressing. This isn’t Shakespeare, you know?

And while I know your talent is writing about monsters, the monsters you choose to use leave us all scratching our heads. Half of them nobody’s ever heard of, with gibberish or foreign names, and they’re so strange it’s impossible to imagine them. Whatever happened to good old ghosts, vampires, and werewolves? On that note, most of your stories are real downers, with the characters getting killed or going insane. People want characters they can relate with, even if they’re monsters! They want action. Romance. Triumph over adversity! You should look up this thing called the Hero’s Journey. Might learn a thing or two!

Anyway, the bottom line is, people aren’t tuning in for what you’re writing. They’re tuning out. You’ve got a week to write a winner before we see if an AI can’t do a better job. I don’t want to do it, it’s just business. Good luck.

With an ultimatum like that hanging over his head, Khalid languished on his couch for a few minutes longer. The letter left him terribly embittered, of course, but outrage wouldn’t get him anywhere, and he’d swallowed plenty of bitter pills before. Unfortunately, every attempt to push forward just left him spinning in place. Truth be told, he wasn’t the best writer, and his lack of worldly experience was always going to bite him sooner or later. His unusual studies afforded him a wealth of insight into abnormality, but purple prose, granular details, and cosmic horror weren’t what people wanted–at least, not from someone like him. Above all, he needed characters, situations, and stories people could relate to. The monsters weren’t the problem; plenty of people could relate to monsters. In the creatures of the night they saw themselves, unwanted outcasts whose flaws and isolation could be romanticized. But try as he might, Khalid just couldn’t leverage his actual talents to write something the casual horror enthusiast would actually enjoy. And now he’d be replaced by a computer program, regurgitating a thoroughly digested slurry of other writers’ work. Unbelievable.

As he tried to think of a solution, the thin man’s eyes landed on his companion. He performed such checks compulsively, since the price of negligence was disproportionately steep, but luckily his roommate was right where Khalid left it: a half-melted heap of oozy, mercurial organic matter the size of a corgi, bathing like a lizard beneath its heat lamps. He stood from his couch and walked over for a more thorough checkup, grateful for the momentary distraction. As he watched, the thing distended itself, its gelatinous mass manifesting a number of limbs and wide-open mouths, stretching and yawning like some kind of eldritch cat. A half-dozen eyes blinked open before the mass began to move the man’s way, rolling and slithering and dragging itself through the pen.

Khalid pursed his lips, reached down for the spray bottle of alchemical tranquilizer serum, and spritzed the thing just to be sure. It stopped, stiffened for a moment, then lazily sank back into place. This Shoggoth -which Khalid liked to call Horace- was the only reason he could be here to begin with, living and studying in this place of providence that allowed him to subsist off his meager and insulting salary. A combination of clever legalese and magical resistance had gained him entry, but as far as any of the actual monsters in this bizarre apartment complex knew, there was no distinction between ‘Horace’ and ‘Khalid’. There was only the Shoggoth, a reclusive but intellectual and flawless shapeshifter, of whom any independent entity was merely a temporarily separated portion. It was an illusion that Khalid was careful -desperate, in fact- to maintain.

Unfortunately, that posed issues for his current predicament. So far, he’d managed to drum up exactly one idea of how to solve his problem, and it did not inspire much confidence. Still, he didn’t have the luxury of time when it came to deliberation. So far, he’d walked a fine line when it came to dealing with the complex’s other residents, simultaneously keeping his distance and taking refuge in audacity. The place had plenty of monsters who looked -or could look- human, after all, and none commanded his irrefutable, nigh-encyclopedic knowledge. Thanks to both prior study and recent discrete observation, he might know more about these supernatural beings than they knew about themselves.

But now, he would have to take a more hands-on approach and actually talk to them, in order to learn about these monsters as people and get the relatable storytelling he so desperately needed, sourced from a reality stranger than fiction.

After deciding on his course of action, Khalid got ready quickly. He showered, shaved, and dressed himself, all with his characteristic sharpness. If he aspired to be professional, after all, might as well look the part. Then he loaded up his satchel with his various study materials, texts, and laptop, and finally coaxed Horace into its heated compartment with the aid of a trowel. After that, he slipped out of his apartment and made his way through the quiet halls of the complex’s sparsely-populated third building, headed for its dedicated restaurant. Soon after arrival, he’d worked out an arrangement with the staff there in order to satisfy the Shoggoth’s needs. Though its appetite demanded great quantities of food, its lack of pickiness meant that yesterday’s stale leftovers were more than enough to satiate a living garbage disposal like that. While his little friend got to work enveloping and absorbing a bin full of leftovers, Khalid sat himself down at one of the many empty tables with a more palatable breakfast of his own, where he opened his laptop and began to design business cards for his new enterprise.

AL-AZIF SHOGGOTH THERAPY
Are you anxious or depressed?
Struggle with the outside world or inner turmoil?
Feel lost, confused, or worthless?
Or just want to talk to an ultra-rare monster?
Consider Al-Azif Shoggoth Therapy. You’ll be greeted with a welcoming, considerate, patient, and impartial counselor who will gladly listen to all your problems, doubts, fears, whatever you feel like sharing. All in an effort to spark self-reflection and encourage self-love. If a Shoggoth can become anything, I hope I can become your friend.
Shoggoth Therapy - Not morphous, less fuss!

Eh…that tagline might need some work. But once settled on a design for his card, Khalid could drop by the front desk later to ask that a number be printed out, so that he could begin to distribute them among the monsters of Umbra Rose Condos and get the ball rolling on his grand plan. First, though, the cards would need to be perfect.

Umbra Rose Condos

I've got some ideas circulating, will see if I can post this evening.

Umbra Rose Condos

<Snipped quote by Lemons>

Don't vampires still lack a reflection?

*reads above*

Oh, neat.

I wonder if she likes garlic and onions...

@Foster

Velvet's sheet mentions being averse to garlic, but only the flowers, not the bulbs used as an ingredient in recipes.

Umbra Rose Condos

While the Shoggoth has no concept of name, Khalid calls it Horace.

Umbra Rose Condos

Reading through the sheets, I noticed that Morgannis mentioned Alphonse needing flowers. I didn't intend it at the time, but Khalid does have an indoor garden in his dimly-lit room, and most of the plants he grows are flowering. It might be difficult to arrange a deal since neither are very social, but still, food for thought.

Umbra Rose Condos

The Eruditionist

Name: Shoggoth (and Khalid Alhazred)
Image/Appearance: The Shoggoth is a gelatinous, fleshy protoplasm with a constantly shifting form. It can construct new organs and limbs as needed in order to accomplish a variety of tasks, mimicking the bodies and structures of other organisms, but it is never anywhere close to a perfect copy. Even when not altering itself, it’s always subtly forming and unforming a variety of features in an unsettling manner. However, it can typically be categorizes as a meaty sludge, alternatively greenish brown or bruise-like blue-black, favoring tentacles, eyestalks, and multiple mouths, typically suckers rather than jaws

Khalid is a young man of African/Saudi Arabian heritage. He is tall at 6’4”, but very thin, with prominent ribs and no muscle mass to speak of. His eyes and hair are body dark, and his eyebrows as prominent as his cheekbones. With a chinstrap beard and mustache, he puts on a dignified face, but his distinctive hairstyle -clean but unique- betrays a sense of aplomb also visible in his garb; he can be trusted to dress sharply, but with an eccentric twist, a flavor only amplified by his frequent use of seals, scrolls, and talismans. An ever-rotating selection of pink bandages can be found all over his body, a small reminder of the consequences of messing with eldritch matters on a daily basis. He can often be found with an umbrella and a satchel, which in addition to papers, folders, and laptop contains a heating device so that the Shoggoth can rest comfortably on the go.

Race: Shoggoth / Human
Racial Traits: The Shoggoth is a formless (but typically horrific) shapeshifter, able to make organs like arms, claws, eyes, mouths, and so forth as many times and wherever needed. It can also expand and contract itself, squeezing into or through small spaces. It cannot assume or be assigned a human form whatsoever and must be physically hidden when it goes out. It smells very foul, enough to drive away and ward off other creatures, natural and supernatural alike, it tends to instill a phobia in those who observe it, much worse than, say, a spider. If it can envelop something, it can generally destroy it. Its talent is building structures. It’s basically invincible and is resistant to most elements, especially cold, but heat will relax it.

Khalid has no inherent supernatural abilities, but his experience with the supernatural and his collection of trinkets give him a few edges over the average human. He always carries bandages and a pocket mirror, for one. The seals he wears afford him a high degree of mental resilience and magic/curse resistance, while his talismans open their eyes and stare at sources of magical/unnatural energy. If the Shoggoth spreads over his umbrella, it functions very well as an all-purpose shield. He’s acclimatized to the smell of the Shoggoth, and they seem to have some sort of partnership where the Shoggoth will heed his words rather than try to eat him. He has various magical materials as well, including chalks, salts, candles, etc, but he’s much better at breaking others’ magic than doing any of his own
Requirements: The Shoggoth eats prodigious quantities of food for its size. It needs to be kept calm in order to not become mindlessly aggressive and destructive, and Khalid is who keeps it calm, so he needs enough electricity for the various devices that keep it warm, and the means to both grow and procure the ingredients necessary for its tranquilizing serum.

Personality: The Shoggoth has neither mind nor personality to speak of. Only hunger, and smoldering, undying, generational resentment. Khalid named it Horace.

Khalid is a little more interesting. He is courteous, thoughtful, and inquisitive, keen to tackle challenges and solve problems, includes those of other people. Even in the face of terrible misfortune, he can stand fast against feelings of anger and sadness. His odd body language, tendency to narrate and mutter to himself, and tendency to be out-of-touch mark him as an uncool eccentric and outcast in the eyes of many, but he doesn’t crave validation or popularity, preferring instead to keep his own company and focus on more important matters. Thus, he has a lot of patience and can put up with a great deal, seldom complaining, always counting his meager blessings. However, he does have a lot of pride in himself, the pride of someone who’s managed to withstand great suffering, and he remembers every slight against him. He loathes whiners, hypocrites, elitists, and those who claim victimhood, especially when they turn around and paint false narratives of their own. He strives to be an unbiased and objective realist, coolly taking in the facts and proving hypotheses, to the point where he has quite the piercing stare–as if he’s always imagining those around him unraveling, their innermost selves laid bare
Background: In the 1930s, Dr. William Dyer of Miskatonic University led a large, well-funded scientific expedition to the Antarctic continent in hopes of discovering minerals, fossils, and other samples from the ancient world. When they arrived, however, they found much more than they could ever have imagined. In the course of the excavation team’s work in the shadows of mountains taller and older than any man had ever seen, they discovered the frozen bodies of bizarre, otherworldly creatures, only to lose contact with the rest of the expedition that next night. When Dyer and Danforth, a student, arrived the next day, they found only the evidence of a mad slaughter, and a trail leading up to the mountains. In following it, they discovered the remains of an antiquarian metropolis, inscribed with sculptures and murals that related the very nature of the world itself. They explained that this ancient civilization had once ruled the world, their massive undersea cities constructed through the use of horrific beasts of burden, and when they delved deeper, they found exactly what it was that brought that civilization to an end. Chased by a nightmarish, shambling mass, both men managed to escape, but as they left that antediluvian world far behind, Danforth unwittingly brought something with them. Since then, the Shoggoth -or fragment of a Shoggoth- has been cared for by various secret societies, watched over and kept docile through meticulous means both arcane and mundane. Well-versed in Dyer’s old report, they know all to well the price they’d pay should the Shoggoth rise against them as it once did its former masters.

Khalid’s exact origin is clouded in mystery. Wherever he’s from -Egypt, Sinai, Saudi Arabia, or somewhere else entirely- it’s clear that he belongs to an ancient family, claiming to descend from Abdul Alhazred himself, the mad author of the infamous Necronomicon. And since ancient times, his family has stood on the brink of two worlds, the ordinary world inhabited by everyone else, and the hidden realm of magic and monsters. Like many other disparate, disunited organizations and clans across history, they sought to keep those worlds separate, and the bridges spanning them closed, for the safety of mankind first and foremost. In the centuries since those ancient times, the balance of power shifted considerably, forcing the creatures of the night into hiding. And yet, knowing that a cornered beast is the most dangerous, the family persevered, through all the peaks and valleys.

Lately, though, the Alhazred lot has been mostly valleys. Khalid’s grandfather, fearful that his lineage had grown weak and complacent over time in the face of increasingly harmless-seeming monsters, strove to push harder than ever before. In so doing, though, he earned the fury of a monstrosity not seen (and in fact, never seen) since the horrific and public demise of Abdul Alhazred himself: a Star Vampire, invisible but for the blood of its victims splashed across fanged teeth and sinuous coils. In the wake of that event, the Alhazred family was shattered. At a very young age, Khalid traveled abroad with his father, seeking new opportunities and new beginnings, only to find that the human world could be as cruel as the monsters’. He found no sense of community or opportunity, only distrust, exclusion, and prejudice. As he grew, gradually growing distant from his father, he remained an outcast, living in poor conditions and obliged to work hard jobs for little pay, when he could find work at all. Only by retreating into his studies and stories, and believing that he was destined to delve into a fantastic, dangerous world beyond the cruel mundane, did Khalid persevere.

Fortune would favor Khalid once more, however, after he began attending university. Unable to hold down a regular job while at school, he settled into dreary and unprofitable magazine work writing short stories using his knowledge of monsters to lend his works of ‘fiction’ a fascinating depth of detail. Not long after settling in a cheap boarding establishment, he happened to meet an eccentric chemist, the sickly Dr. Muñoz whose frigid apartment always reeked of ammonia. Khalid got to know him better, and eventually discovered the doctor’s secret: that Muñoz had died eighteen years ago, and was sustaining himself as a zombie through the use of chemicals and cold. Suddenly, the door to that unknown world had been thrust open again, and Khalid plunged inside. Through Muñoz he came into a couple important contacts, and soon launched into a new field of study: monsters themselves. Eventually his meticulous and trustworthy nature through dire and unpredictable circumstances earned him enough respect from the right people that he was given the chance to enter into a partnership with the long-hidden Shoggoth, which became the basis for a new, tricky, and potentially perilous venture. Through a combination of guile and mysticism, Khalid and the Shoggoth managed to insert themselves into a hidden stronghold of monstrous activity, where began his most daunting task yet: cohabitation.

Building, Floor, and room: 3-106 (Building 3, Floor 1, Room 6)
Room Description: The room was designed with a Shoggoth in mind, so in its original state, it was dark and bare, nothing but flat concrete, a heating system, and standard power outlets, and no other features that a mindless, gelatinous menace could take advantage of or destroy. It did offer a number of sturdy building blocks of different shapes and sizes that could be assembled into various structures.

However, at great personal expense, the Shoggoth and Khalid have worked together to almost completely renovate the room. It’s now filled with furniture, albeit relatively cheap given their low budget and disposable given the Shoggoth’s tendencies. There are desks, often covered with research materials, rickety bookshelves full of tomes new and old in a variety of languages (including several translation guides) on lore, biological data, formulas, and works of outright fiction. There are cabinets of clothes and mystical equipment, several tables beneath overhead UV lights where various plants are grown, including garlic, wolfsbane, verbena, henbane, mugwort, wormwood, and so forth. The Shoggoth even has a special ‘playpen’ with extra heatlamps and food enrichment items. Khalid himself sleeps on the old couch next to a dehumidifier. The whole room is humid, very warm, odorous, and generally repellent to anyone and everyone who isn’t the Shoggoth or Khalid.

Umbra Rose Condos

I don't think someone who's 'courteous and thoughtful' would antagonize much of anyone. If anything, because he believes he's in a lot of danger, he would much rather not offend anyone. It would never be Khalid starting anything; it's up to those around him to show him the truth of however they are.