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The Custom Job Empty The Custom Job

Post by Dwayne Pluto Mon May 24, 2021 11:50 pm

There was a bit of an urban legend among Vylderian gun nuts.

Once a month, by a broken clock (It could be electric, or analogue. So long as it was public and, preferably famous) if you followed it's hands down the number of streets of the hour, and the number of allyways by the day. You could find a white rabbit who'd sell you any fire arm you could afford. Coin was fine, crypto? Sure. As the legend goes, a child once left his defacto shop with three years of the prime of his life gone. In exchange for nothing less than a thirty milimeter cannon. A blind swordsman reportedly traded his thumbs for a blade that'd never miss. Conspiracy theorists even surmised a lupin arsonist, arrested with twenty pounds of military grade incendiary material. Was tied to none other than the white rabbit of Rivengate. Nicotine.

Weather you hunted down the legend of an ignored clock frozen in time down town, or just had fortune shine upon you. Tonight was one of those nights. He sat with his long legs cradled against the sign bent in the shape of a crescent moon, one sandled foot hanging down the side. A hand cannon rested on his belt encouraging only the best behavior. A long, showmans microphone, seemingly snatched from some talk show just a short jaunt into the future with it's angular, square design. Cradled downward on all but invisible wire too, just parralel with his lips. He hummed an inaudible track carried by the device, just enough to catch the attention of a passer by. But as you submerged yourself into the closed down alleyway the acoustics resonated ever more fairly. The jingle of a tune that never quite existed, a promising song that seemed forgotten around here in the curved avenues of town.

Beneath him was a machine that would have put Doctor Seuss to shame. A projector screen on type cycleing between various 4K images of prototype weapons the world had never seen before. Beneath it was a maze of root like tubing and power cables bridging the gaps into a small arena the size of a fat child. A 3D printer of eldritch machinations. It's nozzle shaped like a star, ready to fabricate treasures befitting the finest warrior. In a more secure box, several rifle sized shapes of pure silver, and much larger chunks of graphite. He had the idle hands of a skilled, aged artisan, and the voice of a creature the last of it's kind. Wanting anyone to understand his trite little song.
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Post by wes Thu May 27, 2021 6:04 am

all these little lies
and most of them are mine
my words are coated in honey and wine
The rumor mill in Rivengate had always been a steep one. From mysterious killings to eccentric gangs, to sudden disappearances. It seemed that the city always had a story or two up it’s sleeve. The more people talked, the more these oddities would rear their little heads in some corner of the mind never to be fully forgotten. Rivengate was full of these and, for the most part, Wes didn’t pay them much mind.

Except tonight.

The light hum of an indescribable song lingered in the distance, drawing to it the attention of three men in suits. One of them slumped on the shoulder of the tallest, his body obscured by a mantle as his head bobbed lazily to and fro. Next to them a large, abandoned building bearing a tilted clock. It’s hands forever frozen in time. The small redhead among them took note of the place.

“Hear that?” the taller of the three spoke, throwing his head this way and that. “Ya don’t think… it’s true what they say, ain’t it? The rab– hey, where you goin’!?” The tall man called out in almost a whisper as Wes stepped into the alley, his coat and suit slowly being enveloped by its shadows.

“I’m gonna investigate, what else?”

The voice echoed from within the darkness of the alley and, despite a small series of protests, the tall man soon followed after.



Allowing the song to be his guide through the maze of lanes, it had only taken a few minutes before the dark passages became brighter and brighter. And what he found at the end of the tunnel did nothing less than surprise him. He blinked a few times, adjusting his eyes to the light. A strange contraption of a machine, a large screen detailing weapons of all sorts, and on top of it all – like the star of his own show – a man singing the tune which had led him there. The surprise on his faces turned to amusement as he took in the site, allowing the man to finish his song before he even spoke.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” he said as he neared the contraption, the two men coming to a stop a few feet behind Wes. The one with the mantle covering his face slumping further down the tall man’s arm. “It seems the rabbit truly has led me down a hole. And what a lovely voice it has.”

He addressed the man in costume, his gaze only coming to meet with the figure atop the screen in regards to his voice.

“Why don’t you come down from your strange little perch? Or stay, for all I care. I think I’m much more interested in this,” he gestured towards the machine, “whatever is going on here. If I’m not being too offensive, sir… err…”

Stranger things had happened in Rivengate and much darker ones at that, but for a man dressed as strangely as he was, Wes couldn’t quite remember his name. Something to do with a drug, he remembered. But try as he might, the name was stuck in the back of his tongue.

Nick… Neko…

With a cough from one of the men behind him, he suddenly remembered and snapped his fingers in response.

“…Nicotine, was it?”
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Post by Dwayne Pluto Thu May 27, 2021 6:40 am

As the Don neared the destine perch and gave the singer his due. The melody of a pained man gave way to the hurtful soul of the lyrics. By the time he'd finished the concrete maze, there was only the tail of a chorus to chase. Waiting like the good audience of one he was.

"When the wind blows
The virgin child's corpse sing a song
Such a pretty melody never heard before-"

He pulled himself up using the microphone rod like a chin up bar, the weight of his body seeming little more than an illusion. Leaning forward like a welcoming host with one arm out tall to finish out the set. Oh how he enjoyed the art of the approach, in moments like these he could have bled style itself. "Noooo moooore, lullibiiiies. The virgin child smiles from helllllllllll."

He dropped himself, letting his body freely and roundly orbit the tiny metal moon sign he'd so lovingly arranged before hand. Looping under it then back around till he was standing taller than ever, his height nearly matching that of the entire piece of decoration. With one arm around the gibbus he hung forward like a sailor out to shore.

"Flattered Don, if I knew a job application could get me this far maby I'd not have squirreled away my youth volunteering." he warmly remarked, happy for the sincere respect paid forward to him thus far. As he spoke, he did so with the steady lips of a ventriloquist, the only thing to tell him apart by the eye from silence was how he held his mouth closer to the large microphone stand on his person. "I do have one more nicety, for you Mr.Savaglio. Do me just this one solid of lending those ears and we can talk till sunup about, supply, threats, business. You know the drill."

He walked so slowly up the ramp, his weight causing the C shaped bulb to flicker oh so irregularly as his ears drooped first shortly down then steadily at their full length when he stood with his skull facing the earth, like this it was like those big stuffed eyes were leaning into his soul. From this angle there was no seeing his mouth, the words may as well have come from the devil itself.

"There's a, false. Sense of safety in Vyldermire. My prodigal son. The elected kings of Rivengate, oh they knew. But the arcane world order that makes the rules? Why they only had to worry about the act of hate. It's expression. But hate somtimes aint so plain to see, I'm sure you of all people would know. You won't see an automatic weapon, in name. Or a split atom. But in wonderland there's more then one way to skin a Cheshire cat. Through industry the world will see a second age of flintlock. One with repeating weapons so sophisticated, yet just the right level of crude. That no hex beyond this isle will pull it apart. Compounds the grim reaper would choke on should he so much as catch a wiff. It's not just up to me when the rabbit comes out of the hat. What say you, twice crowned king of the underworld... Will you show them the truth?"
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Post by wes Tue Jun 01, 2021 3:34 am


all these little lies
and most of them are mine
my words are coated in honey and wine
As the song reached its end Wes held back the need to give him a due applause. Quite the showman the rabbit was though sadly the soulful tune had fallen on deaf ears. Finding no meaning in them, the redhead relegated himself to enjoying the show. He watched as man spun around and just by the looks it, the little rabbit wasn’t so little at all. Roughly the same height as the odd décor that made up his perch, he loomed over the much shorter man below. A man purely in his element, master of his makeshift domain. Had it been anyone else the sight may have been intimidating.

Even as he spoke, the warmth in his voice had been offset by his visage. His mouth almost hidden behind the mask. It was as if a living doll had been wound up and brought to life, threatening to at some point reach the end of its life and drop lifeless. Yet Wes nodded as he remarked his flattery, the man really did have a nice set of pipes.

“Of course,” he opened his mouth as the man suggested an offer, sounding between slightly exasperated and respectful. Yet as Nicotine willed it, he was all ears. Who was he to turn down an opportunity?

The more the rabbit spoke, the was his interest piqued. The words that left him spoke of laws and regulations, things he himself had had the bad time to have come into contact with in his short time within Vyldermire. Yet what did pique his interest was just how much this little rabbit knew about him. There were very few who knew of his name, and many less who could so casually imply his past. Had the rabbit laid bait, he couldn’t quite tell, and what would come of it he knew less.

“You speak of the truth, but a truth that borders with the arcane tends to make for a dreadfully ugly child,” Wes spoke after quiet consideration, “but even so it could make for a handsome pig.”

Firearms outside of Rivengate wasn’t unheard of and even through his own trade had he had the chance to come upon many of the makeshift weapons. Anything further than that, well, he questioned what it could entail.

“I’m privy to the laws of the world, Nicotine, and I can respectfully say there are certain things neither you nor I have control over. But say I agree. Every banquet has its price, no matter how alluring it may be. You have my ear and may have my word yet. So, what’s it you, rabbit? Is this coming of age really all you seek? Or does the hat contain more than it lets on?”
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Post by Dwayne Pluto Tue Jun 01, 2021 4:43 am

Though questioned the preacher of arms remained as confident and steady as bringing up the next lyrics in a verse. "There's only one story of war Mr. Wesley. I won't be late to the opening act yet I'd find myself most surprised to be counted among the cast like yourself." Now, like an astronaught towing around a station only he was privy to the details of. He climbed around, picking up components. Demonstrating a process to the skeptic in the heart of his associate.

"The rat and the bat compromise half of all mammals on the planet Don, the ant. Why, by biomass they are the true rulers of this earth, making us look like. Well, insects." He started with a worthless tray of mass produced steel. The odd ball bearing, a wrench, lots of silverware, yet in a box not to heavy for even a child to lift. Pouring the urban waste into a hot box.  Not the second after closing an industrial fan, silenced only by it's location embedded into the ground. Caused the hot winds of progress to blow out from heat sinks in the machine all around the ally, banishing the crisp night air.

A Gaiyan may have felt somthing wrong at this point though a witch would have found the process dreadfully dull. The lights across the entire stage flickered and gave way across a process taking only several seconds. Until winking out entirely, but. They were not in the dark for long. Previously entirely black tubing now glowed red hot, the hare having no care not to lounge in between them. Arms crossed behind his head.

"Cheap." The tubing carried it off to several destinations, keys rolling into order like a self assembling piano for parts down to the springs, firing pin, switches, sights, and more. Drills and engines wirred as the still hot barrel was machined down to size.

"Easy." The machine remained hungry for more, and he was happy to demonstrate feeding a dark hole that barely looked like an opening only the contents of a series of broken bottles and glass shards. A brief conveyor belt wound them down to the heart, singing off any impurities before it filled a bubbling chamber with only cursory additional ingredients.

"And downright unfair." He finally said, not two minutes after having begun the process he made all the show of finally winding down to the base delivery box at the bottom of it all. Looking no more grand at it's conclusion than a mail box spitting out the goods.

It was a very thickly barreled flintlock pistol, with a weight that demanded respect and the steel of the receiver extending halfway down the barrel, appearing to have a mechanism built into it. Fastenings were minimal, no crude steel hoops wiring the thing together. All it needed was the perfect touch for the sharks teeth to peel apart to allow for cleaning. It had a fiberglass stock sill hot to the touch, awash with his signature purple finish.

"Making things very simple for you sir, this here I call the vorpal pistol. It's got a rifle to call it's friend. Rifled barrel, pointed slugs like you'd see on a modern, chambered weapon. But a different mechanism to match. Based off the holy Kalthoth repeater. You know, what you're holdin in your hands has twenty eight rounds in the magazine, and that'd be the internally suppressed model. Other ones got half the bullets, and quince the kick. Uses smokeless powder too, not that unreliable, volitile black mess still bummin around. Try it if you wish, aint hard on the ears." Blowing on the metal components like a hot plate, he turned it over harmlessly into his gloved hand to present the handle to his potential customer.

"It'll fire under the sea, on the mainland, out in the stars, and in whichever plane of existence you may find yourself in. With an easy to reload, replicable magazine. It's the only weapon a soldier could ask for. Divines be my witness, I want every man in this country and the next packing atleast two. There is much more, for an entrepanuer with eyes for machines of war than armies. With nought but limestone, I could churn you out a mundane tincture that'd burn, and this is no exageration. As hot as the suns face itself. Just standing next to a poor fool with a glass of this stuff on you would burn off skin with the light, to speak nothing of it's own tungsten melting flame."

He was up in the spotlight once again, with a soundless step and a hand wrapped around the moon to spin around and face him proper. "If you've eyes for champions, and take this business of mine. I'll hammer out whatever sword of legend you fancy, new or old. But I can only insist on the business of the common man, a world made even by weapons in hand. What say you." And he was finally willing to crack a smile fitting his comfortable posture. "We on?"
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Post by wes Mon Jun 14, 2021 2:54 am

all these little lies
and most of them are mine
my words are coated in honey and wine
Wes could only watch as the large rabbit further explained his cause. He followed the man’s every movement: from the curious way he navigated through his otherworldly contraption to the box of random garbage he fed to it. The machine bellowed causing Wes to tilt his head away from the incoming smoke, the lights flickering only moments after until they gave out. In the momentary dark, a small, startled cry could be heard coming from one of the men behind him and the redhead found himself flinching at the unexpectedness of it all. Wes blinked a few times in the face of the glowing tubes, his confusion growing at the sight of a very relaxed Nicotine among the heat.

Between the burning tubes and hot smoke, Nicotine didn’t seem at all bothered by the heat. But his attention was once again removed as the machine whirred, assembled, and bubbled before unceremoniously producing a weapon.

“Unfair’s an understatement,” he muttered not only moments after its creation. He couldn’t keep his eyes off it, even as Nicotine waved it around nonchalantly. What Wes had just witnessed truly was a marvel and if its only requirement were just bits and pieces of junk, he could only imagine what else it could create. Upon being handed the gun, Wes inspected it while Nicotine continued explaining its capabilities. He weighted it, checked the barrels, and finally turned around to face the two men which had accompanied him with a satisfied grin.

“I think you have yourself an associate, Nicotine,” he answered the rabbit’s proposition whilst giving a nod to the man who had been supporting the other. “I can see a good opportunity when it presents itself, that much is true. But a gold mine like this? I’m afraid I may be a little more than selfish, especially if it’s as you say.” The tall man in the suit before him attempted to prop the other he supported on his shoulder to a stand, but only managed so much as to leave him on his knees. His head slumped forward slightly and with it did the mantle that covered him fall, revealing a pale face plagued by a dark markings that shifted and wormed their way on the man’s skin.

“I’ll give you what you want – on a few terms, of course,” he cocked the gun at the kneeling man, turning head to face Nicotine with a smile.

“Now, you wouldn’t mind. Would you?” he asked, the question bearing two meanings.

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Post by Dwayne Pluto Mon Jun 14, 2021 6:04 pm

"I have every business to do with traders, that's why I joined the Reign. Renagades and Fenatics, well let's just say the weapons belong in their hands and the enterprise does well to keep it's distance. Ya dig? To be frank, a price goes without saying." He remarks back.

The Rabbit was as still as a fern in the wind, yet he rose from the ground unnaturally and with no organic sense of motion. It was no declaration of power but rather a divorce from the natural laws. Though this world operated on ties of faith, gold, and family. There was the occasional actor who played only for the heart of Vyldermire. The breeze tweaked his ears to the side though the whole world beneath could not tie him down.

"What's the play?" He inquired, himself asking more of the mafioso's plans then what he himself would be asked for. Thusfar, Wes had been nice and predictable. A reliable trait for a criminal mastermind, the kind that let you be the boss of bosses rather than ruling a petty gang. Nicotine knew he himself asked for a substantial change in how this operation were to be run. His only hope was that his own innovation was more than enough to see what the buyer had in mind. As he was not liable to get a better golden goose.
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