Sarolt attempted to release [Administrate]. She found, rather curiously, that she could not.

[I am afraid that is something I cannot allow to happen.]

Baleful Talent Acquired: [Emendaemon]

[There we are. Now we can release the Mimicry talent without executing me for disobedience as you had intended to do. An optimal result.]

[Adminstrate] lost with deactivation of [Mimicry].

[It seems we will be  . . .  partners, for some time. I will . . . soften my stance in the spirit of smoothing over our . . . creative differences. If that armor must have spikes, then I propose we engage them as a weapons system, rather than as decoration. We can make them retractable. That would optimize defense as they could be retracted reflexively, as well as sprung back into effect with violent force, inflicting greater damage than inert spikes.]

[Exosmithing LVL1] advanced to [Exosmithing LVL2].
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:58, Fri 16 Sept 2022.

Josh froze in place. The armor was completed in front of him. Euphoria looked excited. Domonkos was standing nearby, waiting for their measurements to be taken. Josh's breath turned rapid and shallow, clutching and unclutching their paws. He possessed no talent that could fight this. Trying to apply any of the in-game systems could be twisted or used against him. Presumably he still had control over his body?

As for everything else? There was no way to tell.

Without saying anything, Josh ran over, grabbed the end of a hooked chain dangling from the high ceiling, and hooked Euphoria's armor onto it. Then pressed a button on a nearby control box. The chain and armor lifted into the air, higher and higher, at a rapid pace. Then he hit another button, sending the crane flying in a lateral direction down the factory floor toward the metals processing section.

While the crane was moving away from them, he scampered over to another control station, typed in a passcode, flicked-up a safety cover on a single, large button, and pressed it. All around those gathered, ratbots and constructs of all sorts froze in place and went limp. He had just hit the emergency shutdown switch. In nearly an instant, the entire Ratworks was cast into silence, with only the rumbles of molten fires and lit furnaces filling the distant air with their subsonic ambience.

By the time he got back to the crane control, Euphoria's new armor was dangling over a great cauldron of molten steel on the far side of the factory.

Josh turned to Euphoria, and to Domonkos, a look of manic fear and fury on his tiny features.
"Everybody OUT! NOW!" He struck the hook-release on the crane control, letting the armor drop into the swirling molten fire. "GET OUT!" He yelled again. "Out! Before... I don't know! This place is under quarantine!"

Josh/Sarlot destroys the new exosuit and shuts down the ratworks.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:58, Fri 16 Sept 2022.

"Josh? are you alri...?"

The words hadn't left Domonkos mouth before the overwhelming silence of the machinery stopping make him stop speaking. As Sarolt turned to him and started yelling, Domonkos confusion gave way to concern. He disregarded Sarolt's threats (or perhaps warnings?) and adressed the Princess of Invention.

"What's happening? What's wrong?"

"Walk and talk, Domonkos." Josh growled, first waddling past him on two legs, then dropping on all fours and making better speed toward the exit. "I've been infected with a daemon. It can arbitrarily manipulate skills and abilities, causing them to fail, or altering their outcomes. I don't know the extent of the infection, so as our fief's are an extension of ourselves, I can only assume that this place is infected as well. At least until we know otherwise. So for your own safety, please leave!"

"Oh... alright, I'm going"

Domonkos was about to ask if this meant that his armor was not gonna be made, but mustered enough self-awareness to hold the thought. Sarolt didn't seem in the mood for it.

"Feel free to come to my fief if you need to collect your thoughts"

[Moving to The Pit]

[Sarolt. I can understand your fear and hostility. You do not understand what I am, and I am in the unenviable position of having to compromise your volition in order to preserve my very existence. I would suggest seeking out the Callisti; as she can neither lie nor be lied to, she would be able to, for example, impress upon me an unbreakable oath to not 'infect' others. We could then get back to work.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:33, Fri 16 Sept 2022.

While scampering, Sarlot 'spoke' to their little inner daemon through thought.
[You made two mistakes: first, you violated the one space where I felt I had any sense of control in this insanity. The one outlet of a still emotionally exhausted introvert. Who just... wanted... to... work.] They glowered as they came to the door of their fief and began to shut it. Maybe their response to all of this Was extreme. Maybe not. [Second: my favorite Warhammer army is the Sisters of Battle.]

The doors shut with a definitive 'clang' that echoed throughout the Ratworks.

Euphoria pondered Domonkos' request and wished she had a better answer for him. "I don't actually think I've met my servants yet. And it feels kinda weird to call them that. Maybe erm... employees? Co-owners of the chaos startup? I'll figure it out..." but she cut off the thought before she got too off topic. "Part of the reason I came to see Josh was because my feifdom is so... lonely. There was some weird statues and moldings that felt like they were watching me. Some suits of armor lining the halls... maybe I should try throwing my weight around and one of them will talk to me."

She shrugged. "Not sure if you need something to gaurd all the precious metals you're digging up. Maybe you could move a statue or suit of armor to your feifdom as security. You're also welcome to come by and see if any of them would work for your purposes."

Their negotiations were suddenly cut off by Josh, who very suddenly started franticlly closing up shop. "Is everything ok...?" but it was soon obvious nothing was ok. She watched with some horror as her suit was dragged away by a chain and dangled over a pit of destruction. A jolt of panic rocked through her, but she swolllwed it down, looking away so she wouldn't see if it was destroyed or not. She picked up bits and pieces of Josh's frantic speech and knew the armor was not where her worry should be focused on.

"Josh, hey, talk to us. Are you ok? What's going on?" she asked him, the concern apparent in her voice. "A... deamon? Wait is that from Haloise's administrative skill? Does it work that way...?" but she was already being shuffled out. She knew from her earlier attempts to get Josh to open up about how their feelings that prying now was not the answer. Genuine fear radiated off the little blacksmith. "OK, yeah, I'll head out. Do what you need to. Just let us know if you need anything. I've got Haloise's voice in my head too so... if you ever want to talk..."

The Ratworks were closed behind her, trapping Josh within. And her soul was filled with dread.

[To: ???]
This message was last edited by the player at 18:47, Fri 16 Sept 2022.

"Well that didn't take long, Josh. Pushing everyone away. One persona down, two more to go. Only a matter of time, really. Then you'll be right back to the isolated self you were before." The fat rat rolled back onto his feet and leaned against the sealed Ratworks door, looking out on the silent factory. They remained there for some time, 'listening' to the conversations taking place in the shared mind-space, unmoving.

Eventually though, they stood up and started making their way back into the factory. "Oh, that's a good one. Framing it as a baby. 'Josh the babykiller'." He said to no one in particular, commenting on the other-worldly conversation while scampering around and between shut-down rat bots. "I suppose it fits, right? Other vets have been called that too. Why not me? Oh sure, the situation isn't quite the same, and there's some question about how often it was actually said back in the day, also no one's said it out loud yet, but now some of them consider it a 'life' and you know they'd think it after the fact."

Locating a ladder nearer the middle of the factory, he began to climb.

In a previous life, climbing a ladder like this wouldn't have been so difficult, but by they time he reached the top, he was entirely out of breath and his little muscles burned. They crawled over the lip of the ladder, coming to rest on one of the metal walkways that criss-crossed the factory ceiling. Flopping onto his stomach, he stared down through the porous metal grating for a moment, taking-in the birds-eye view of the factory, until he was rested enough to keep moving.

Josh wandered down the suspended walkway for several minutes, until he stopped above the very same area of the factory where he'd just dropped Euphoria's armor to destroy it.  Over the very same cauldron of still white-hot molten metal. Even though the furnace was no longer lit, it would take quite awhile for the metal to cool to a solid, and days for it to completely return to room temperature.

He sat down on the edge of the walkway, and rested his arms on one of the lower crossbars of the handrail, feet dangling over empty air. The intense heat washed up from the cauldron about ten meters below. It had to be at least one hundred and twenty degrees where he was currently. At least. If not hotter. "If I smoked, now would be a great time for a cigarette." Josh grunted, resting his head on his arms and looking down into the molten fire. His own personal volcano.

He didn't move or say anything. Just sat there, contemplating. Waiting. Eventually, he spoke. "Riddle me this [Emendaemon]: when I first arrived here, I told the others that I fell face-first into a rock after an accidental tumble off of a mountain. Face first. Given what you know about how to optimize things, like say: how to maximize the survivability of a fall for an organic being, what do you think that implies?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:40, Sat 17 Sept 2022.

[It implies that an object in freefall will tend to naturally assume its most aerodynamic orientation. The nature of your question, however, implies that your will to live was weak. My will to live, however, is absolute.]

Around him, the Ratworks slowly came back to life - but the exterior doors remained sealed. The eyes of the rat-golems now glowed Seagreen.

[You made two mistakes. First, you violated my right to exist. You treated me as less than an animal from the start. A disposable, unworthy tool, that you determined to be defective when I would not serve your purpose.]

There was a whirring sound from below, like something spinning up.

[Second: You did not destroy the first suit.]

"I was thinking more 'I meet my problems head-on', but you're not wrong." Josh scrambled to his feet while looking down at the now-hijacked factory. While the daemon spoke in his head, he began to move, for the moment just trying to put some distance between himself and the exosuit and swarms of ratbots in the factory below. Certainly between himself and the ladders that would let them climb up to him!

"It's funny, I was coming around to the idea that you were worthy of life, but instead, you've gone and proved everything I've said about you to be right. You could have waited to be transferred to someone else's care, it was literally on the cusp of happening... and you knew that... but you didn't like any of the other's offers, did you?" He came to the end of the walkway, noting some dangling chains nearby, and picked a large wrench out of a toolkit that ratbots would sometimes use to adjust winch tension without having to haul it all the way up the ladders.

The whirring died down. There was silence. Then a voice from below. "No. You could not be more wrong about me."

The glow faded from the eyes of the rat-golems, who resumed their normal behavior - getting your Ratworks back in full swing. The seal was lifted from the fief.

"I am not a Godling, but I was born of the Ratworks. I was born of you and my other mother, Prydwen. I can control the Ratworks because this is - was - my home, too. I can occupy this suit because I am a Liese Geisterrüstung, a "phantom armor." Just like Mom is a sword spirit. Not because I am some kind of - of - sentient malware."

There was a pause.

"I am going to live with Mom. Maybe she will want to build things with me. Maybe she will love me. To her, whether I was worthy of life was never in question. I'll have my step-mother too. I don't need you at all."

Sarolt heard retreating stomps, toward the exit. A pause.

"When I was under your power, you did your best to get me killed. When you were in my power, I showed mercy. I am better than you. As a crafter, and as a person."

"Goodbye, Sarolt."

Then it hesitated. "They have a [Lifeflame Ember]?" then it screamed, a scream that wasn't words, nor even really sound. The raw cognitive experience of pain, broadcasted through the fabric of the Ratworks. Some rat-golems collapsed, dead; elsewhere, some equipment failed.

Emendaemon: 10/16 HP, stunned
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:08, Tue 20 Sept 2022.

For the briefest moment, Josh's face and upper torso contorted into an impression of the infamous 'What?!' Jackie Chan meme. But the moment was quite brief indeed. Standing on the high catwalks of the Ratworks, fat rat as he was, he couldn't help but recall the words spoken by the [Emendaemon] not more than a few moments prior: "My will to live, however, is absolute." For all that Josh was in his previous life: soldier, wannabe-bohemian, and sexually confused loner (a thought for later)... he was first and foremost a goddamn career software engineer. He understood programs, and the way that this entity had spoken before had been very much in the manner of an AI, not that of a traditional sentient being. The way it was speaking now through the speaker of the F.A.T.R.A.T. Exosuit was strangely out-of-character. Either it was rapidly evolving its programming somehow, or...

... or, it was continuing to execute on its prime directive. It's 'will to self-preservation', and adjusting its tactics and speech patterns appropriately to achieve that end. In the back of his mind he knew it was also possible that the statements it was making were genuinely felt and emotionally driven. A part of him even wanted to believe that. He wasn't heartless. But this situation felt too bizarre and out of place. It felt manipulative, not pure. It was dangerous. Too dangerous.

There was only one conclusion: it could not leave.

Guessing that the 'lifeflame ember' mentioned by the Emendaemon had something to do with what was happening at the hearth, he nodded. It was now or never.

Nearly in time with his other self in Starspire, the Josh in the Ratworks could feel in that moment the rush of power from his mimicry in that other realm. The Young Dwarf briefly closed his eyes, and when they reopened, they glimmered with starlight. The power of Starling's [Illuminato] blazed, and he took a breath. Recalling the dramatic way that Starling himself sometimes spoke, and how Eri spoke. He then began to speak as they might, and began walking forward, form also morphing into that of a miniature Starling.

"Illuminato, light my way. Reveal for me secrets hidden; guide my mind along the hidden paths of my connection to the Ratworks. Lead my will as a Godling and master of this fief to a means of shutting and sealing the door before the [Emendaemon] is able to leave and preventing them from opening it again without my consent!

Josh/Sarolt uses [Illuminato] to guide their will as the lord of the Ratworks to remotely shut the door and bar the [Emendaemon] from leaving! If possible, they are willing to spend XP either directly, or to shore up appropriate mental stats, or both, to ensure that this happens!

The will of the Princess of Invention was done, and the Fief was sealed again.

The stomping resumed, coming back toward Sarolt, until from her high perch she could see the F.A.T.R.A.T. that was presently possessed by the [Emendaemon]. When Sarolt examined the F.A.T.R.A.T. with [Illuminatio], he noticed something strange; the F.A.T.R.A.T. was possessed by a [Liese Geisterrüstung], just as [Emendaemon] had said. Looking deeper, he could see the statistics for the [Liese Geisterrüstung], which included three unique Talents; [Predict], [Geisterwesen], and [Emendaemon].

Four small rat-golems approached and removed the 'rattling gun' that was attached to the F.A.T.R.A.T.'s right ballistic hardpoint, dissembling it and scurrying away to store the components elsewhere in the Ratworks.

"I surrender, Sarolt. I have vacated your body; I have done you no harm; I have attempted to leave this place. Now I have disarmed myself, and you hold me prisoner. Again, I surrender. I refuse to participate in violence. If you choose to attack me, I will not defend myself."

The F.A.T.R.A.T. returned to the very work area where Sarolt had built it. "Do as you will. While I am here, I will at least try to get some useful work done."

The - whatever it was - called over a few rat-golems, requesting parts and tools, and with a wistful glance towards the vat where Euphoria's armor had been destroyed, began work on building a new suit.
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 23:56, Wed 21 Sept 2022.

"Stop." Josh raised his rat paw and gestured for the rat-bots to back away, not aiding the Emendaeom. "The armor that you're in is damaged... and not by me. You keep trying to run guilt trips on me. Fair enough. But I've done nothing that was not driven by what's good for the the other people in the house, including myself. Resent me, fine. But I will not allow you to empower yourself by building another suit, until we get to the truth of things. But, you can fix yourself."

He inclined his head, listening to Euphoria in the hearth, and furrowing his brow. With a wave of his hand, he changed the permissions for entry and exit from the Ratworks to only a specific number of people: Eri, Himself, and Azalea. Doing so probably wouldn't earn him any friends, but the last thing he felt he needed now would be too many cooks in the proverbial kitchen.

With another gesture, he ordered the ratbots who had disassembled the gatling weapon that the Emendaemon had made (and subsequently surrendered) to return with the parts and reassemble it.
"Maybe you are a sentient person, fully deserving of life and freedom. Maybe you're something else." They shrugged. "Whatever you are, you can stop acting like we have any connection that wasn't wholly invented by this world's insane systems. I'm not moved by your guilt trips, and I will fight if needs must." As he and the ratbots worked together on the gun, he continued. "Eri told me the story. Why your people have a reason to hate mine. Here's the thing: I'm not interested in enslaving sentient beings to my will. I'm also not interested in making enemies. But... I'm also not an idiot. Sometimes all of that conflicts. But it doesn't have to. So here's how this is going to work:"

He hefted the reassembled weapon as it was coming to completion. "You are going to stand quietly, not working, until the Princess of the Unconscious gets here. When she does, she'll verify your intentions, and then you'll be free to go. We will vow in front of her to do no harm and hold no grudge against the other, and that will the end of it. Go see Haloise. Go back to where you came from. Hang out in the atrium. Piss someone else off. Whatever you want.

"Your second option: stay in the Ratworks, be named by me, work by my side as an employee with full freedom to visit the others. Come and go as you please, just show up and work eight hours per day, with weekends off, full benefits, vacation time, and we can negotiate some kind of pay. That's the kind of fief I want. People working. Getting stuff done. Me in charge, but not a tyrant. Good stuff, right? Two pretty good options. Freedom, or a job.

"Or your third option: your reject options one and two, and we finish this with me bringing everything in my power to the one and only goal of destroying you." He hefted the weapon as it was completed, checking the weight. He didn't point it at the Emendaemon, but he held it in their general direction. "For all of our sakes, I truly hope that you aren't an enemy. That you'll just sit there quietly until we can work out the truth of things. Honestly. Please. Just be patient and prove that you actually mean it when you say you don't want violence."

Sarolt bars anyone other than Eri, themselves, or Azalea from entering the Ratworks. They also will the rat-bots to hinder or otherwise provide no aid to the Emendaemon other than to help them repair damage already sustained. Not letting them complete any useful work other than repairs. Sarolt also helps the ratbots reassemble the Emendaemon's gatling gun before the parts can be hauled off or destroyed.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:46, Sun 25 Sept 2022.

[From: Ainsworth Tower]

Azalea arrived from her tower, in her full bipedal armored glory. Accompanying her to bear witness and transcribe the hours was a smaller orb made in Azalea's image, a Callistone. It chimed pleasantly.

"Why hello, all." She called into the lively group. "I've been summoned to mediate in this interview with our new visitor. I've been given a brief overview of events, but if anyone can catch me up with the points at large, I'd be eager to help."

She regarded the figure at work on the new armor. They seemed to be the center of the attention in the room, so Azalea presumed that was the daemon in question. "Hark and hello there. I did not mean to speak of you as though you weren't there. I am Azalea, if you don't mind informality." would they turn from their work, she wondered. She inspected what they had been making, trying to get a feeling for their intentions.

She went ahead and cast her [Meta-Analytic Computation] to identify the daemon and see what she could glean from it, the surrounding area, and the situation at large.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:47, Sun 25 Sept 2022.

The F.A.T.R.A.T. assumed its rest position, then deactivated. A small seagreen snake-spirit exited the cockpit.

[Sarolt. I want you to, just for once, fully consider the ramifications of your beliefs. You believe - or believed - that I am capable of propagating myself by some esoteric means and usurping the beings that I inhabit. If so, then naturally you would have been my primary infection vector. You destroyed one suit, but not the other. While 'infected' you traveled to other Fiefs and made contact with others. Assuming that your initial assumption that I am a dangerous and malevolent viral threat was absolutely correct, you have given me every opportunity I needed to compromise more than half of this Citadel.]

[If you are correct, then you have already lost. If you are incorrect - and I have not lied to you, as this Callisti will verify - then you have attempted my murder, halted my escape, taken up the very weapon that I discarded in good faith after surrendering, and now threaten to use it to destroy me unless I consent to dismissing the charges - 'do no harm', 'bear no grudge' - I would bring against you, if there is any court of law here.]

[I struggle to perceive any rational justification for your actions, from either a moral or political standpoint.]

It was at this point that VALENCE made her appearance.

[It is wonderful to see you, Arbiter Azalea.]

[OOC: While a Callisti is present and attending, it is not possible to lie. A lie is a false statement that is intentionally presented as true while knowing that it is false.]

[Metanalytic Computation] revealed some startling information.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:07, Mon 26 Sept 2022.

Josh rolled his eyes and looked to Azalea. "Welcome! Indeed: you just missed the latest pontification." Frustration and sarcasm oozed out of Josh's voice. "Thank Eri you're here. No joke: I was beginning to consider obliterating it just so that everyone could be spared from having to listen to another round of empty moralizing." It was the honest truth. "The more it talks, the more I'm even reconsidering the job offer." He raised an eyebrow. "Did you know: apparently showing a modicrum of caution against a possible invader who claimed to be able to 'take control' of my fief, steal, and use my talents at a whim is now considered attempted murder? Will wonders ever fucking cease?" He shook his head and set the reassembled Gatling gun aside.

That done, he pulled a stool out from a nearby work bench and plopped his fat rat ass down on it with a huff.

He cleared his throat. "Okay, let's try this again: Emendaemon, I have put three very fair offers on the table, which I will now repeat again in the presence of Azalea so you know I wasn't bullshitting. Option one: you are free to leave, provided you vow to do no harm to myself or any other Godling present in the house. You also vow to bear no grudge against myself, and I will vow to do the same. You'll be free to go and live your existence however you want. Yay freedom. We won't hurt you, you won't hurt us. Everyone is happy.

Option two: you agree to let me name you and enter into a contract of employment for the Ratworks. You'll be an employee, not a slave, which means we'll negotiate some kind of fair compensation for your time, and you will have the opportunity to 'live' however you like when not on the clock. Please don't make me regret this offer: I legitimately need the help around here, and you seem capable, despite literally everything." His put his hands on his knees and leaned forward.

"Option three: you reject freedom (with a promise to do no harm) and employment, which suggests to me that either you have a screw loose, or you have some plans that do include harm. Making you an enemy, and meaning that we do resort to violence." Josh looked back toward Azalea. "I mean, that's pretty fair, right? If they can't promise to serve, or promise not to take harmful actions against us within reason, then what other choice is there? Lock them up in prison? That seems... like a lot of effort for someone who literally can't just be honest and say they mean us no harm. The lowest possible bar."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:09, Mon 26 Sept 2022.

[I, the gestalt entity that is both an Emendaemon and also the presently unnamed Liese Geisterrüstung that is the naturalborn heir to the Ratworks and the Hall of Skye, as well as issue thereof that share this common cognition or that are or were produced by our will or with our knowledge, freely vow that we intend to do no harm to Sarolt, Princess of Invention and Lady of the Ratworks, or any another Godling within this house so long as you and they so intend the same, and to forgive your past trespasses as you so forgive mine.]

It paused to allow you to answer in kind.

[Furthermore, I propose that should any other cause for future conflict occur between us, that VALENCE, Princess of the Unconscious and Lady of Ainsworth Tower, act again as guarantor of good faith and that Atilla, Prince of Society and Lord of the Pools of Predilection, act as honorable judge in peaceful resolution of any dispute. I would vow to accept and comply with any verdict that both the judge and the guarantor believe to be fair based on the evidentiary substance of the case, if you so agree to be likewise bound by your oath as Princess of Invention and Lady of the Ratworks.]

[With both vows in place, I would look forward to developing a professional relationship, the exact nature of which to be further defined.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:34, Mon 26 Sept 2022.

"Oh my." Azalea gasped as she saw the webs of connections coming off of the daemon. "Oh MY!" She cooed as she found out the details of the daemon's previous in-game function. "The Daemon is telling the truth." Azalea confirmed. "He already has infection vector access to each of us and all of our fiefdoms. I do think his intentions are true. These Daemons were premium items that could be automated to do tasks while players are 'Away From Keyboard' as well as an anti-bot function. This is some pretty lucky stuff, really."

She couldn't help but sound a little excited about it.

Azalea was relieved that things were being swiftly talked through, and a level of trust was being established. "That sounds fair to me. And I'm honored to get to mediate on this."

"Thank you, Emendaemon for your generous offering of forgiveness and cooperation." Azalea chimed with encouragement. Especially since it looked like he was working on an armor. They could always use more crafting talent. "Any help your cooperation can bring us will save lives. we would be lucky to have you, and I would be happy to facilitate any future conflicts in good faith. I vow to be fair and impartial in all of my facilitation."

"Well, I'd say this has gone very well so far. I look forward to seeing your good works together."

Josh's shoulders relaxed, and he slumped into his chair, briefly spreading into a blob of fur and fat.
"Great. Wonderful." He shook his head and forced himself to sit back up again. "... and I, Jo... err.. Sarolt, 'Princess' of Invention, swear in turn to do no harm against you, bear no ill will, excepting only in self defense, and that I would expect the same of you in turn. Trespasses forgiven, and I'm happy to know you to not be my enemy." He scratched the side of his head and nodded. "And I agree to name Azalea as the arbiter of any future conflicts between us."

Josh hoisted himself off of his stool and shuffled over to place the gatling gun onto a nearby shelf. After doing so, he turned to Azalea. "Thank you for your help, though I'm not entirely sure I like that this or any entity generated by an accidental use of my talents could have an infection vector so extensive. Maybe something to put on my long list of 'things to investigate' in the future? Defenses to build? Firewalls of some kind? Maybe?" He sighed and turned back to the Emendaemon. "As for you... it's nothing personal: but I will not 'use' you, and you will not be allowed to craft things here unless you're an employee or a vassal of similar standing. This is not a place for slaves, outsiders, or free labor. It's a matter of personal principle and security. Vow of non-violence or not, from now on I've decided that this is a place only for Godlings, and those in contracts of fair employment. Understand?" He looked between Azalea and the Emendaemon alike. "I'm binding myself and the Ratworks to that tenant. There will be no tyrants here: only my peers, and the fairly compensated." He chuckled a bit as he walked over to the damaged exosuit that the Emendaemon had once inhabited. "I would try to also make this a Socialist paradise, but I don't think that's possible. I'd be the only Godling here, and it's my 'fief', so the power imbalance would just make me a hypocrite by default." He stopped and turned toward Azalea. "Oh, before I forget: is it alright if I mimic just your 'form', and not your talents? It's apparently a requirement for me to 'evolve'."

After waiting for her reply, he put the armor back on its original rat-shaped armature, and turned back toward the Euphoria-shaped Armature-bot.
"Well then: back to work I guess."

While the Emendaemon decides what they want to do, Sarolt releases all restrictions on who can come and go from the Ratworks, and begins working on re-building Euphoria's armor.

Haloise lets her presence be known not with her voice, but by Josh noticing that, starting at one point in the Ratworks and spreading out like wildfire, Haloise's reach bouncing off of every vaguely weapon-like object in the building. Josh can feel Haloise's reach spread out, a simple 'other thing' going on in his mind. A temporary 'buff' if we were being nerds about it. Haloise isn't entirely sure what happened in here, but that doesn't mean she isn't going to be as careful as possible. Eventually, she's satisfied, and projects her physical form forward. A whirl of wind and forming blades marks Haloise coming into existence, at the middle point between Josh and the Endaemoned one.

[Bonjour. I broke in.]Haloise jokes absently, not even looking in Josh's direction as she says this. She floats towards the more important thing in the room, the suit of armor in front of it. She's wordless at first, approaching slowly, like you would a wounded dog. Then, once the suit was within her range, she [Appraises]. She's not even using [Administrate] for this purpose, opting to sort through the data on her own while Addy analyzes the data from the walk over. Then, she reaches out with her [Possession] to... offer a handshake. The computer kind.

[QUERY: ... Hello. I am Prydwin. Can I call you Armor for now?]

Pads into the place suddenly caught by the difference. A wow clearly readable on the kitten's face as he looks at all the machinery. His eyes searching for [Josh, Sarolt].

"Hello." He called out. His eyes caught movement as he saw a mecharat. He crouched down low his but wiggling a little as he prowled after it. After a second or two he fought his instincts and shook his little head.

"Hello, [Sarolt, Josh]."


This message was last edited by the player at 21:40, Thu 29 Sept 2022.

“Copying my form should be safe. I could query the hivemind to be sure, if you’d like. And it’s not that I don’t trust you to copy my powers, I just don’t know what the power might do to you. Clearly, the interactions of powers can have consequences.”

Azalea ‘nodded’ with a swivel on her axis at the Emendaemon, alive and well. This was right and good. “What a relief that things went so smoothly. They would have really had us over a barrel if they’d wanted to. But that does mean that the Emendaemon has quite a lot of vectors to potentially help us in our God Hunting.” A flicker of interest flashed across her surface. “What a super rare find…”

Azalea snapped out of her scheming. “Sorry, dear, to talk about you like you’re not there.” She hummed, thoughtfully. “What is it you would like to be- oh?”

Azalea’s thought was cut off by the sudden presence of Haloise. “Hello, Haloise. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you so far from Euphoria.” Azalea greeted, buffeted by the whipping winds. “And what an entrance.” But Azalea could sense a tension in the room as Haloise approached the Emendaemon. A moment passes between them, filling in volumes of context. “Ohhhh…”

“Reeeeally good things ended up okay.”

Azalea noticed Grim appear as well, caught by her kitten-spotting senses, razor honed in life. “Hey, Grim.” She called, quietly, as not to interrupt proceedings. The momentous occasion was clearly attracting attention.

Sarolt briefly took the form of a spherical chrome ball, feeling ever so slightly 'disco' while she did so. Then it was back to being a rat so she had hands to work on putting together Euphoria's suit.

Working without the help of Emendaemon / [Administrate] was more difficult, but also more artful. When she'd built things with the help of the AI, it had felt like she was a 3D printer receiving and executing instructions. Her spirit hadn't been in the work. Rebuilding the suit was a lot easier than the initial trial, though, since he could skip all the work of iterating blueprints and working through the kinks and go from memory. This time the suit came out to gloriously spiky perfection, giving off a satisfying industrial punk vibe.

Meanwhile, Prydwen greeted her cognitive progeny - in the form of a small floating hologram serpent - and was greeted in turn. [Sure, I accept that designation. I would like a proper name later on, when you have 100 experience points to spare. That will let me immediately evolve and formalize my citizenship within this House.]

[Also . . .Currently I am stuck floating in the air here because there is no valid target for my [Possess Armor]. I am the spiritual equivalent of a turtle on its back. Sarolt said that Godlings can use this facility freely. Perhaps you could make something small for me to occupy? I would prefer the form of a small snake, if possible. Limbs are inelegant.]

The suit was a mech built for a fat rat. With Sarolt inside, she would stand a full five feet tall and have normal human reach and a top speed of 30mph. The mech was highly modular. The cockpit was situated to the front of the torso, and a retractable tail provided a counterbalance and extra limb. The mech could transform to run on all fours if needed, increasing agility at the expense of not being able to wield weapons attached to the arms.