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The Imagiverse

The Teslatorium

a part of The Imagiverse, by Adam Skelecoot.

The Governor's private hangar, where his trusted engineers and scientists invent, and explore, new inventions

Adam Skelecoot holds sovereignty over The Teslatorium, giving them the ability to make limited changes.
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The Teslatorium

The Governor's private hangar, where his trusted engineers and scientists invent, and explore, new inventions

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The Teslatorium is a part of Skeleville.

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A large, brass-plated dome, sitting in the middle of the industrial district of Old Albion like the shell of a titanic, mechanical turtle. Within this building, whatever projects that are either too large or too dangerous for the independent workshops are supervised by Giles Mackle, the dwarven Head of Engineering. It is in this building that ferocious military machines are designed and eldritch technology is brought in by curious outsiders and prodded with long sticks, under the assumption that since the skeletal tinkerers have already undergone the main hazard of examining machinery, which is agonising death, there was theoretically no risk to be had.

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Prologue:
Space. A very broad term, either a synonym for volume or capacity, or the vast blackness outside the atmosphere, or equivalent thereof. The latter is considered infinite, or at least, infinite from the perspective of a sapient being. The Creators may think otherwise, but they're not in a position or inclination to educate their creations. The Centre itself, the area in which the known worlds of the Imagiverse reside, spans mere light years, but there is a frontier beyond that, a deeper, more ancient blackness that more loosely follows the logic of reality than the Centre itself; a deeper space known as the Edge. It is in this intergalactic gulf, which surrounds the Centre as the abyssal sea surrounds a desert island, that the most potent mysteries of the Imagiverse itself are buried, waiting for the strong-willed and foolish to uncover, the most interesting relating to the Creator of the Imagiverse, the Maker, who has been slumbering for aeons, brought to a coma by the equally omnipotent but malignant Maelstrom that haunts the Creator's End, it's galactic prison, and is said to be at least vaguely responsible for all universal evil. This, along with the Maker's fitful dreams that pervade the Imagiverse but are more potent in the Edge, makes the subconscious gulfs a dreadfully dangerous place. Only a knowledge-hungry or suicidal person would dare traverse it.
One is planning to do so now.

The Teslatorium, located in the heart of the industrial district of Old Albion, timeless home of the Victorian undead Skeletorians, was undergoing the most activity it has seen in years. Tinkerers, engineers, apprentices working under the engineers, are rushing around the spacious hangar like ants in a hill, tweaking gadgets, soldering bits onto others, ensuring the stability of complex mechanisms that the living world has long abandoned for being too redundantly difficult to maintain. For the apprentices, it is an honour to work within the private workshop of Jonathan Skelecoot, Governor of Old Albion, and more specifically, under, or rather over, the supervision of the dwarven skeleton engineer Giles Mackle, Head of Engineering in the whole city. Moving through the throes like a small, muttering comet, Giles bellowed instructions to the masses of workers, the majority working on the centrepiece of the operation.
The space-bullet, Giles' peculiar term for the brass spacecraft, sits square in the middle of the hangar, and is being tended to by only the most senior engineers; the others are polishing the hull until it gleams. It spans the same size as a galleon, a proud mechanical wonder capable of travelling countless lightyears a minute, thanks to it's engine. The engine is powered by Innovatium, the mystical compound common in Skeletorian technology, considered to be the material anima mundi of the Imagiverse. Possibly no other machine uses the amount of Innovatium as the S.S Victoria - as the space-bullet is titled, after the deceased monarch - which was possibly why the interior was much larger than the exterior, a nasty shock for the engineers at first, but they adapt at a speed that makes learning A.I look like slugs.
The Governor had the audacity to put out an advert in the Imagiverse Hub, asking for only the bravest and strong-willed to join his latest voyage; a brief sail across the Edge. Giles was not going to question his superior's wishes, but he silently wondered what had sparked this latest lapse of madness in John, who was well-known to be several wires short of a circuit-breaker at the best of times. He was currently going with his brother, Adam Skelecoot, and the Chosen Few, who were all acquaintances to the skeletal brothers and therefore close friends. The band of heroes were known to be impervious to all sorts of trauma, so there's nearly no risk of welcoming back a bunch of vegetables, if they ever came back, that is. The head engineer was only worrying about whatever new recruit the advert was going to attract, and how many will actually reach the Teslatorium.

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Character Portrait: Skitters
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"Uh... e-excuse me, is this where..." a sweet English voice called out, however, it was clearly artificial, with electronic cracks here and there and a strange tone it conveyed. The skeletal population didn't heed it much mind, as it was barely audible over the announcements being made. That is, until... "Where's the bleedin' Teslatorium ya bloomin' hollow skulls!?" They were taken aback for a moment, looking around now for the source of the voice, until looking down at a little creature standing there, looking up and giving them the stink eye. A small raccoon stood there, well, for a raccoon she was pretty big at three feet, with a red handkerchief around her mouth and wearing some kind of computerized collar device with a speaker in front, most striking was that she had an extra set of forelimbs. In her upper right hand she held a hand fan, fanning herself, trying to appear sophisticated.

Looking at this absurd creature amused some of them to laughter, which only increased Skitters's ire. With swift motion, the creature snapped the fan and thwacked one of their kneecaps, toppling them down to her level, and she, placing the closed fan under the chin of this poor recipient of the critter's wrath, she leaned in close. The laughter stopped. "Look, I get it, ya blighters are all already pushed up daisies, what is there lest to make ya quake yer boots..? Lemme tell you a secret, I've come from the Edge, and there are ways to make even the undead cry... now... where's the bleedin'..!" Before she could finish, the skeletal citizen pointed up.

Looking up over the man she saw a sign pointing the way. "Oh... um..." Her face turning slightly red, she had not considered the solution to be above her visual height, a curse of being confined to such a diminutive height. Letting the citizen go and slipping by quietly, she proceeded towards the Teslatorium. Maybe an apology letter too... for whoever she harassed... eh, maybe later.

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Character Portrait: Adam Skelecoot ((Roleplay Creator)) Character Portrait: John Skelecoot Character Portrait: Max the Robloxian Character Portrait: Jack "The Ducky Boy" Quackers Character Portrait: Fancy Pants Character Portrait: Skitters
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It did not take long before news of a strange creature had spread across the undead city, asking for directions to the Governor's Teslatorium. An upstanding citizen even made it past the Governor's guard, who were in theory guarding the bunker's entrance whilst having a fag, and informed Giles of the approaching thing. Handing the citizen a few Skulls (the currency of the Underworld) in compensation, the dwarven head engineer ordered a few apprentices to send word to the coppers outside to keep a keener eyehole out for anything suspicious coming their way. Jonathan, to his knowledge, was waiting for men (or women, though it was seldom he heard of any worthwhile heroines in his time), not some gods-forsaken hellbeast from the Edge.

Somewhere, within the unmapped confines of the S.S Victoria, Jonathan was conversing with his current accomplices - the Chosen Few, pre-determined defenders of the Imagiverse, and the closest he has to friends, tragically. They all sat in the Cafetorium, consisting of several tables and seats fit for an entire crew, and a strange contraption occupying an entire wall at the end, seemingly a cross between a coffee machine and a nuclear reactor. It was currently being operated by a cuboid figure, heavily-built and flesh yellow in skin tone, glaring into an optic scanner. A few seconds of odd mechanical noises later, the machine produced a cup of coffee. In theory, the machine, dubbed the Cornucopia by Jonathan, who invented it, could produce any foodstuff the user could imagine, so this probably wasn't the most demonstrative use of it's functions.
The figure, Max the Robloxian, would make his way back to the occupied table. "This' gotta be the most insane idea you've had, John. No-one's gone to the Edge and survived, at least, not with their heads screwed the right way 'round. What makes you think we'll pull through with this?"
Jonathan, 7 foot in stature, like a four-legged spider, and dressed in an attire that speaks both practicality and the highest Skeletorian fashion, was eating roast beef with a knife and fork (not that he needed to eat anymore, now that his physical stomach had passed on, but more out of an unshakable habit). "We have the blessings of the Creators, haven't we?" he spoke evenly.
"Even the Creators avoid the Edge!" snapped Max. "They know No Man's Land when they see it!"
John shrugged. "Well, consider this as the ultimate test, Max. We either return home, having proven that we can stand it, or not at all."
Max slumped on his chair, next to Jack Quackers, a sea-green Toon duck whose only combative skills are tossing custard pies at the enemy's face. "I hafta agree with Macth, John," said Jack, his speech hindered by his beak. "We've handled the Darknethh, ancient beathth from the dawna time, but they were local. The Edge'th Maelthrom territory. We'll only come home in bagth."
John had to agree. Somewhere, on the very rim of the Imagiverse, was Creator's End, and the Maelstrom. It likely has more influence out there than in the Centre. He wasn't certain that it would tolerate heroes in it's zone.
"Well," he conceded. "Let's see how it goes. I've sent out for anyone foolish enough for the journey, just for the extra help. From what I gather, we're gonna need it."
"Pfft, yeah," said Max. "Like we need more people to drag into certain death. Who's seriously gonna believe that bullcrap about training and honour that you put on those posters?"
On the other side of the table, a four-foot stick figure, proof that one can exist as both a two and third-dimensional entity, stared gloomily over his ice cream cone. "Even I don't believe all that," muttered Fancy.
There was one other hero on the table, not unlike Jonathan in build and vitality - or lack thereof- except he was almost completely naked except for a moss-green loincloth, all the rage in the barbarian hero fashion industry, and a red bandana. He wasn't engaged with the conversation, but was looking around the room with childlike intrigue, as if he wasn't already accustomed to his new surroundings.

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Character Portrait: Adam Skelecoot ((Roleplay Creator)) Character Portrait: John Skelecoot Character Portrait: Max the Robloxian Character Portrait: Jack "The Ducky Boy" Quackers Character Portrait: Fancy Pants Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms
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Skitters found herself scurrying about to an uncertain destination, eventually leading herself to a large brass dome. She stood upon her hing legs, looking up as much as she could, and then more than that, tipping herself over backwards with a small thud. As she laid on her back, she heard heavy footsteps approaching, her eyes wandering behind her, and upside-down she saw two massive shoes attached to massive legs, and a shadow over her was cast. She could hear, somewhere above these legs, a loud hiss of air, then quietly, this figure bent over, reaching down with massive hands and pinching her handkerchief, the figure lifted her back onto her feet, then pats her softly on the head, dusting her off a bit, before walking over her. The little critter could only utter a small whimper, eyes large, watching the figure in a fine suit stomp past.

"A-ah... ah... h-hey, wait!" she yelps, her voice radio cracking as she chases after the figure.

Coming to the entrance the giant figure stood there, adjusting his tie and looking down to see whoever stood there.

"Excuse me," the figure spoke, his voice deep, reverberating, yet somehow soothing and cordial. The face of the being was obscured by a skull-like mask, a cigar in its teeth, eyes like red burning coals, steam shooting out his neck. "I am here to volunteer my services."

Skitters ran up beside the large man, being a bit timid of the giant.

"H-hey... I'm 'ere t-too!"

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Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms
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One of the entrance guards, a corporal who had heeded the head engineer's instructions with less than enthusiasm, almost swallowed his cigar when the tall, masked figure approached them. The other, who was a sergeant and therefore the other guard's superior, merely replaced his cigar onto a mechanical ear strapped to the right side of his skull, it's purpose only to support the dog-end in a traditional manner, and straightened up, but even then he had to tilt his head slightly backwards to address the figure.
"You here for the Governor's voyage advert, then? I'm sure John'll appreciate another volunteer. Open the door, Crispin," he would instruct the choking corporal. "Right y'are, sir," he croaked, turning to a panel set by the brass doors. Muttering, he would press several keys on a keypad below a speaker, and the door would open. It was a smooth movement, and sadly didn't involve any grinding or creaking of any description, only an obnoxious buzz and a whoosh. Many a door connoisseur have been deeply disappointed by that door.
And thus, the figure would be allowed into the Teslatorium. As the guards were already pre-occupied by the strangeness of the figure, they wouldn't have noticed the racoon-like creature by their feet.

Having yelled himself hoarse within the crowded area around the spaceship, Giles had taken himself to the entrance area, a small lobby with several old sofas dotted around. Customer service certainly wasn't the main focus for this room, which opened up to the workshop on one side and housed the door to the cramped stairway, more of a diagonal corridor with steps, on the other. To enter the Teslatorium, the visitor will have to climb down the dimly-lit stairs and press the buzzer by the door at the end, which would attract a shifty-eyed guard who would examine the potential visitor, should they be the wrong person. Giles, who was becoming increasingly impatient, had decided to take the role of welcoming the volunteers, mainly because the dwarven engineer was getting fed up at having to push past apprentices two feet taller than he is.

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Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms Character Portrait: Vragi Odd
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A short spiky shape scurried through the city streets, hopping ever so slightly in excitement. Two large metal tools jostling on its back, it resembled a sort of disjointed porcupine. It certainly turned a few heads on its way, still being alive and all.

The dwarf soon slid to a halt in front of a large domed building. He looked around while he caught his breath, taking more time to the stock of the city. Peering up at the gleaming roof and adjusting the heavy goggles around his helmet, he grinned before darting to the entrance.

The sergeant of the two guarding the door would hear quick apprehensive footsteps, followed by a slightly more conspicuous clanging of metal and wood, and a “Hrmmm…”. If he were to look down to his side a couple of feet below his eye level he would see a very old, wizened dwarf not much taller than his own white beard, peering very intently at the Skeletorian’s mechanical ear through his dark glass goggles. He’d probably be prodding or prying at it with callipers of he was tall enough to reach

“Fascinating.” Came a low croaking voice “In all my life I’ve never seen such a thing. Does it help your hearing or is it cosmetic? Ah, or is it some sort of novelty cigar holder? Or-” he began to ramble on, bombarding the poor guard with irrelevant questions about his ear which, if he wasn’t stopped, would eventually digress to myriad other subjects that no-one here was likely to care for.

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Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms Character Portrait: Vragi Odd
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The sergeant would glance at Crispin, who was too busy staring at the dwarf with horrified fascination. He would clear his throat and interrupt the rambling newcomer. "Well, back when I was flesh, I always tucked my smoke behind my ear, so I went down to a local tinkerer to get a brass ear for old time's sakes. You here for the advert?" he would then add. "The Governor would certainly welcome another tinkerer to his ship. Funnily enough, this one flies, ain't that right Crispin?" He would address the corporal, who was opening the door again. "Whatever'll they think of next, eh?"
"If they decide to work on flying pigs, I'll eat my 'elmet," muttered the corporal. The door will open again, and the dwarf will be let in. After a few awkward seconds of silence, the sergeant, a 48-cum-152 year old Hales, would turn back to Crispin. "Funny people we're getting as volunteers, ain't they?"
"Person'lly, I wouldn't mind not seein' their faces again, if they make it to the Edge," grumbled the corporal.

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Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms Character Portrait: Vragi Odd
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"Thank you, good sirs," the fiery-eyed titan said, and with a bow of his head, he patted the corporal on the back, trying to restrain his strength, slipping a business card into his hand. On it was something about... Grimms Scientia Obscurum... information broker. "Keep up the good work." He walked through the door, unconcerned of the little hitchhiker he had picked up along the way. It was worse for a man his size, to squeeze through such a tight stairway, but his eyes actually helped to illuminate the way down. At the end he found himself facing another door.

"I see their security is not taken lightly, or... there was a sale on sliding doors," he muses to himself as Skitters grumbles to herself, squeezing past the titan's body and pushing the buzzer on the wall. Sliding open a little slot on the door that'd reveal two scrutinizing eyes. "Greetings, I am Sir Betelgeuse Grimms... entrepreneur... and to-be explorer. Off to rekindle my spirit of youth an-"

"What's with the fat squirrel?" the guard interrupts, looking over at Skitters.

"F...fat!? Squirrel!? Excuse you, ya rude git!" Skitters responds, face reddening from the sheer nerve! "First off, this is mostly fluff, secondly, I am of the order Procyon Supremus, not some stinkin' rodentia cur!"

"Ah, looks are deceiving, it seems! I believe this spirited young lady is a volunteer as well." Grimms says, rubbing his chin. "Perhaps a good match for my son..."

"Y-young... l-l... w-what was that about...?" she stumbles, becoming increasingly flustered, only amusing Grimms more. "Anyways, yes, YES, I am here as a volunteer as well! Skit- er... no, I mean, I am esteemed lady, the Duchess Basalah." She says, her voice gaining a pompous tone as she tilts her nose to the air and closing her eyes, fanning herself to try to look as (self) important as possible.

"Yeah, okay," the guard says, clearly becoming exhausted from this exchange. With another buzz, the door slides open, letting the two enter.

As Grimms walked through, he took a moment to straighten his suit and dust it off. He scrutinized the area with his blazing eyes. It wasn't exactly like a stylish resort, to say the least. He took a moment to test the amount of dust on one of the couches with one of his gloved hands, and, after looking at his finger, decided... it was best to remain standing.

"Quite the veritable genius's fortress," Grimms comments.

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Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms Character Portrait: Vragi Odd
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As the tall, devil-like figure scrutinised the furniture, the guard would approach Giles, who was standing only a few feet away. "Here are the volunteers, Mr Mackle; a Sir Grimms and er..." he would look back at the short creature that followed before continuing stoically, "... A Duchess Basalah."
Giles would glare at the soldier for a moment, whilst the soldier met his glare halfway. After a few seconds, the skeletal dwarf would nod and the soldier would salute, smartly making his way back to his post. Giles would waddle towards the volunteers, his hands gripping his suspender in a business-like manner. "Welcome to the Teslatorium, folks. Name of Giles Mackle, Head Engineer of Old Albion and the supervisor of this facility. If you could follow me, please, though I doubt you 'ave much choice in that regard." He would turn by means of leaning on a boot and using it as a pivot, before the guard would hurry back. "There's another one, sir. A dwarf."
Giles would mutter something under his breath before replying. "Let 'im in, then." When the guard had let in the dwarf, he would then lead the group into the heart of the Teslatorium.

As they made their way, climbing down floors which overlooked the S.S Victoria on ground level, the newcomers would note the tables scattered across the floors, supporting machinery that looked alien to this steam-powered city. Apprentices and technicians would examine eldritch devices, occasionally prodding them, jotting down notes on the strange noises they emitted when a button was pressed or a dial turned, and occasionally ducking when the occasional device emitted a loud, green beam which melted a patch of the wall opposite. It would be evident that this wasn't just a home for Skeletorian technology; it is also a research facility for foreign machinery, a by-product of the Governor's insatiable thirst for knowledge, mundane or otherwise, tucked away from the rest of the city.
At last, they made it to the main attraction, the spacecraft that will traverse the Edge and, hopefully, return in one piece, or two. On the stern-side of the ship, oddly-bent pipes trickled oddly-coloured smoke, which contorted strangely as it caught in the errant breeze of the workshop. Serious thought, and possibly the consumption of something illegal, had gone into the design of the ship, where the odd gear set in the hull turned sluggishly, the occasional pressure valve puffed the same bizarre vapour as the exhausts, and even weirder machinery whirred and clunked within the hull.
"Y'know, John designed most of this space-bullet 'imself," Giles stated casually. "Especially the engine that runs the whole fin'. He reckoned that usin' enough Innovatium - that's a special substance we use in most of our technology to you - would provide enough power for in'erstellar travel. Mind you, I've always found it best to ignore wotever strange fancies 'e spouts, but I reckon 'e's on ter a winner 'ere." As he climbed the ladder to the entrance hatch, he continued. "Though I'd 'ave ter warn you, Innovatium can distort reality in odd ways, if there's enough in one place. Wiv the amount John put in the engine, that'll be evident wen yer go in. It'll seem bigger on the inside than on the outside, but don't fret, that's my advice ter yer." He would open up the hatch and motion the volunteers inside.

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Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms Character Portrait: Vragi Odd
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“Thank you very much and a very good day to you!” Vragi told the guards, tipping his helmet as he entered the hall to meet the other volunteers and head engineer. The dwarf hurried through as fast as his short legs could carry him, and when he reached the others he was slightly out of breath from having hurried through the city to get here.

Vragi had never met a dwarf that was not still alive before, however he guessed from the last reaction he’d had that asking too many personal questions might just seem a bit rude, so he settled for “Sorry I’m late! Vragi Odd, at your service!”

Vragi’s eyes were glued to the experiments as he scuttled along the floors. The myriad alien technologies and their equally varied behaviours had him engrossed and he very nearly fell over, what with the tools on his back. Better stay focused, he thought, chuckling to himself. As they made their way toward the ship, he took the time to observe the two volunteers he was accompanying. One of them was only just shorter than himself, whereas the other towered over them both. A talking raccoon was something he hadn't seen either, but he'd have plenty of time to get to know these people once they were on-board and oriented. Soon enough they reached the vessel. The dwarf’s eyes lit up as he looked the huge construct up and down.

“Astounding!” he exclaimed at the engineer's explanation, without even having seen for himself, “I must give you all my utmost respect for such a technical marvel!” He nodded politely to the engineer as he was shown the way in, and stepped eagerly through the entrance.

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Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms Character Portrait: Vragi Odd
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Skitters stared at the strange eldritch machines in their possession as they passed by, a plotting glimmer in her eyes as she thought of the various possibilities. Grimms simply took to following, politely listening to Giles's riveting explanation, taking mental notes of his own as they proceeded towards the opening hatch of the vessel.

"They say madness and genius often run hand-in-hand," the fire-eyed giant commented, puffing out a plume of smoke. He chuckles lightly afterwards, taking out his cigar for a moment. "Seems I will be in good company."

"Ey, I dunno what yer' talkin' about, but I ain't got no bloomin' bats in my belfry," Skitters responds with a huff. Grimms simply chuckles again in response.

"Thank you kindly, monsieur Giles, you are certainly a boon to this establishment," Grimms says politely, bowing to the skeletal dwarf, before proceeding into the entrance of the vessel, Skitters still clung to his side.

Geez, what a ham, Skitters thinks to herself. She then looks back seeing another dwarf running up behind them, this one actually still has his skin on. "Ey, what's up?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Adam Skelecoot ((Roleplay Creator)) Character Portrait: John Skelecoot Character Portrait: Max the Robloxian Character Portrait: Jack "The Ducky Boy" Quackers Character Portrait: Fancy Pants Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms Character Portrait: Vragi Odd
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Giles would merely sniff at Grimm's first comment. "Yer know, John often sez the same fing, and 'e might be right. But 'e's still a madman, whatever 'e says," he would add severely as the giant climbed down the hatch into the spaceship. He would motion the other two wordlessly in, closing the hatch behind them as they enter.

The interior of the S.S Victoria had also been aesthetically considered in design, though pipes running along the ceiling and under the occasional grating underfoot also suggest that functionality was also a key point. The main corridor, lit by periodic gas lanterns, seemed to stretch a whole mile, from one end of the ship to the other. Giles was right; although it seemed big enough on the outside, it was like stepping through a portal into a cruiser. No doubt this brought the benefit of fitting in whatever specialised rooms were needed for an interstellar voyage, but the evident distortion of physical law was disconcerting.
As the volunteers made their way down the corridor, they would hear distant voices, not exactly raised in argument, but suggesting that this was an option. They would make their way in that direction as the voices argued.
"You didn't have to join, you know," snapped one voice, a higher-class English tone that could easily shift several social rungs down to Estuary when provoked. "When I put the advert up, I didn't necessarily put your names on it! Wise up, Max, the only thing that brought you here was your understandable thirst for something challenging, something more dangerous than the average local demon. And that goes to the rest of you!"
"Oh, come on John," complained another voice, still English but even further down the social ladder to Cockney. "I'd join yer even wivout the advert. Yor me bruvver, after all."
"Well yes, Adam," responded the first voice stonily. "I wouldn't expect you not to join. I'm referring to the others." Here, the tone changed, as if returning it attention to the 'others'. "You came aboard this spaceship because you knew that, for the first time in years, you could challenge yourself. Out there, where no-one except those who treasure their existence very little would dare venture, was the ultimate test of your abilities. So shut up about having to go, because you didn't."
"John, I hear footsteps," said another voice blankly. A few seconds of silence passed in what the group could make out to be an open, brightly-lit room, as if the voices had stopped to listen.
"Ah," the first voice spoke cheerfully. "That'll be the volunteers. Excuse me."
A skeletal head, dressed only in a purple bandana but with the expression of deep suspicion, would poke out of the doorway, looking one way before looking in their direction. His expression would then melt into a welcoming grin, although the effect was spoiled by his uneven teeth, as the rest of him poked out. He was easily seven foot, dressed in steel-capped boots, maroon trousers, brown trenchcoat over a purple waistcoat, and maroon gloves. The overall attire suggested a man who liked travelling in style. The dapper skeleton would straighten up, hands behind his back in an authoritative manner. "Ah, I take it you've come for the Edge voyage? Welcome to the S.S Victoria, volunteers. I am Jonathan C. Skelecoot, Governor of Old Albion and the captain of this vessel, but you can just call me John. Come with me to the Cafetorium to meet the others." He would beckon the others into the room, the Cafetorium as he refers to it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Adam Skelecoot ((Roleplay Creator)) Character Portrait: John Skelecoot Character Portrait: Max the Robloxian Character Portrait: Jack "The Ducky Boy" Quackers Character Portrait: Fancy Pants Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms Character Portrait: Vragi Odd
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Vragi bowed enthusiastically to skitters as she acknowledged him, introducing himself.

“Moths, I think.” he replied in a serious tone, after some thought. He suddenly realised he hadn’t properly greeted Mr. Grimms, and did so promptly.

Rather than discomfort, Vragi was buzzing with excitement as he took his first steps through the seemingly endless corridor before him, trying not to trip over his beard as he spun round, glancing here and there at each pipe, observing the reflections, the structures, and all the various pieces of machinery that were left visible. Occasionally one would hear him murmur “fascinating…” under his breath.

The dwarf slowed down as they reached a door from behind which they could hear voices. Although there was some tension in the conversation coming from the nearby room, this was lost on him and as far as he knew he could be listening to a casual afternoon chat.

When the door opened for them to be greeted by a skull staring them down, followed by the rest of the skeleton, and introduced himself as the Ship’s designer they’d just been told about, Vragi bowed so fast and so low that his beard (which was surprisingly springy) rebounded him back up, almost toppling him over backwards.

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Character Portrait: Adam Skelecoot ((Roleplay Creator)) Character Portrait: John Skelecoot Character Portrait: Max the Robloxian Character Portrait: Jack "The Ducky Boy" Quackers Character Portrait: Fancy Pants Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms Character Portrait: Vragi Odd
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Cordial as always, the firey-eyed giant bowed to the presumed captain of this vessel. "Indeed. I am Sir Betelgeuse Grimms, but Mr. Grimms, or just Grimms will suffice... just don't confuse me with a certain crass and mischievous specter. There is absolutely no relation, I assure you," he says, chuckling slightly as he stands back up straight. "Either way, monsieur John, I must say, I find the prospects of this vessel of yours to be... rather intriguing, whatever made you think of such?"

Skitters narrowed her eyes at the Chosen Few and faked a cough... and when that didn't work, she coughed a bit louder. Rolling her eyes, she cranked up the volume on her communication box.

"AH-HEM!" She then proceeded to point at herself with one of her claws, raising her head and fanning herself. "Ey, ya blokes! Didja maybe forget 'bout something?"

Grimms ponders for a moment rubbing his chin, looking between Skitters and the chosen few.

"Oh? Have you already met before?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Adam Skelecoot ((Roleplay Creator)) Character Portrait: John Skelecoot Character Portrait: Max the Robloxian Character Portrait: Jack "The Ducky Boy" Quackers Character Portrait: Fancy Pants Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms Character Portrait: Vragi Odd
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The Chosen Few, who were busy eating their second course from the Cornucopia, would stare at Skitters with a rather troubled expression. Even Max, who was often the stoic of the group, looked rather concerned.
"Did we see that before?" pondered Adam.
"Nah, not in our life," said Max. "I don't remember comin' across an oversized rodent with a voice box."
"Funny fing," said Jack. "Cauth I get the feeling we've theen it before, back in Grand Gaia..."
"A spot of continuity deja vu, that's likely it," dismissed John. "I wouldn't be surprised if the engine was already affecting us from this distance. We're possibly remembering it from another timeline. But not to worry, if we did see it, it definitely didn't talk then." He would chuckle at this, and turn to Grimms. "On the prospects of this vessel, Grimms, I think the main reason I designed this ship, other than the potential ease of travel between other worlds, is for research. For a long time, the Edge has been no man's land, an uncharted, or rather unchartable, area of the Imagiverse that very few people have ventured into and returned from. I want to be the first man to complete a successful voyage into the Edge, to learn what I can from it. You may or may not have heard of the legends of the Imagiverse's beginning, but I believe that the Edge, being a much older part of the Imagiverse, could hold answers relating to said legends.
"For this purpose, I have designed this ship to be capable of withstanding any external threats and pressures that might occur during our voyage, as well as travel at sufficient speeds should we come across any turbulence. I know Giles disagrees with me on the engine, but Innovatium has such potential as a power source - I mean, look at what we have built around it! - why not use it to power a spacecraft?"
"Hold on, hold on," interrupted Max, standing up. "I remember you telling us something about- oh yeah. Because it's unpredictable, possibly sentient and distorts reality if there's enough of it around?"
John would glare at Max for a moment. "Yes, Max," he would snap. "That is the basis of our understanding, which is why heavy training is required to even handle the stuff. It seems to resonate with people's thoughts, if they're thought hard enough, so you have to be able to keep a rein on your thinking when dealing with it. However, I don't see why I, the man who brought Innovatium into the scientific field, shouldn't know how to use it."
His tone would soften, as his gaze unfocused, seeming instead to focus on somewhere beyond the window overlooking the Teslatorium, which he approached casually. "I've always wondered what had occurred, back when the Imagiverse was young, and the being known only as the Maker roamed this universe. It was the Maker that brought the Imagiverse to existence, but not many people know what had occurred back then, or even know he exists. All we have is old legends of his grand castle, where he first weaved the basic Ideas which brought order to the Imagiverse. They say he had one day had a nightmare which eventually became the Maelstrom, which terrorised his creations and sent him into a coma, but where's the evidence? Perhaps it's out there, where even the Creators wouldn't go."
An embarrassed silence passed between the others, who looked to the volunteers as if John was an old relative who had a tendency to drift away. As is often the case, Max would clear his throat, and John would wake up from his reverie, spinning back around to the newcomers, an anticipating grin on his skull.
"Well, it's a good thing you're here to learn then, eh? Together, we can piece together the puzzle concerning the Maker, and find out, once and for all, what had really happened to him. Now," he would turn to Skitters and Vragi. "I apologise for not asking for your names beforehand, although you (he'd direct this to Skitters) seem to think we know you already. What were your names again?"