Fantasy Lost in Words

[The One Eyed Bandit]

Audacity was in equal parts a bane and boon, they'd always thought.

Whilst the ruckus of quill scribbling against paper would have long since quieted by now, and the gentle glow of brightlight would only be gracing a scant few desks, tonight the Translator's guild bustled with life. Many a Doll, some who'd stayed late and some who'd been called in specifically for the occasion, busied themselves with the gargantuan task at hand. Sheaf after sheaf of paper was scrawled upon, each with the same passage.

"Are you really sure all this is necessary?" To the chagrin of some of the more particular scribes, a gentle voice pierced the orchestra of paper and ink. Through the centre of the hall, two figures paced. At the lead was a Doll of medium frame, their visage a careful mixture of ancient and refurbished wood; at their heels, towered a Ragdoll whom at this point seemed to be comprised more of stitches than plush, sporting a jovial gait that would've almost been cute if not for their obvious veterancy.

"Absolutely! Certainly! Mostly." The hulking figure joked, even further disrupting the gentle flow with which some of the scribes worked. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, no? And most of this is on my dime, anyway! You should be happy for the service." As if to convince the other Doll, they clapped the pad of their hand against their back, though it hardly caused them to budge an inch.

The wooden Doll shot them a quizzical look, which quickly turned to one of apology when they spied the gazes of contempt being shot at them from the other inhabitants of the room.

"Fine, fine... Though I don't really see why you're so possessed with gravitas. Times have surely been slow, but..." They began to speak, before their voice trailed off into a mix of indistinguishable mumbles. If they had nails to chew, at that moment they surely would have.

"Eh? Don't worry too much about it, old chap. Call it a gut feeling!" The larger Doll attempted to reassure them, though they weren't entirely sure what exactly a gut was.

"Mmm... I'll do my best." They mumbled a halfhearted response, this time just barely audible. At that, the two Dolls' pace slowed to a stop, a towering pile of neatly stacked letters laying in front of them. Neither of them was quite sure how many there were, but both were confident that it would be enough to serve their purposes.

"Actually, now that I'm looking at them, do we even have this many Dolls on the mailing list?" The Ragdoll wondered aloud, earning them yet another wave of spite from the still hard-at-work scribes. The other Doll cringed. If both of them made it to the next day without having to sit through a few dozen complaints, it'd be more than a miracle. They considered making a public apology to the scribes they'd employed, but somehow they had a feeling that the act would only be considered a mark against their pride.

Stowing away the thought for now, the smaller doll reached out and took up one of the letters in hand. Methodically, they scanned the message, going over its contents for the nth time before heaving a heavy, tired sigh. It wasn't clear, it wasn't concise, and to be frank, they had more complaints about it then they could ever hope to list, but they knew that there was no stopping it now.

If just having these written was going to be this exhausting, the matter they discussed might have just been enough to kill them.

To whom it way concern,

Good day, and I hope this finds you in good health. Today I, Professor James, Ninth
Head Scholar, write to you in invitation and plea. We of the Scholar's Guild
are in dire need. Our numbers dwindle, yet our work towers higher than
ever. So, I ask, will you not come to our side?

Be you old blood or new, I beseech thee! Come! To our side for the quest for truth!
And if such a lofty ideal is beyond you, then worry not. Fame, glory, riches
and more, all will be within your grasp too! All you need do to pay the
Scholar's Guild a visit, between the beginning months of the coming year.

Looking forward to your visit,
The Ninth Head Scholar, The Magnanimous Professor

Months later...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

As it had been for the better half of the past month, the Scholar's Guild was currently in a state of chaos. With every morning, came a new stack of letters, each needing to be sorted and read through by the scant administrative staff available. The vast majority of them were complaints, which only served to thicken the ever-present atmosphere of stress that had recently claimed the dilapidated guilf hall as its home. At the same time, just enough of the incoming mail was of important enough note to prevent the frustrated staffers from giving up entirely, forcing them to drudge through the constant downpour of inky grievances.

Even worse than that, were the guests.

Day after day, from noon until closing, all manner of Doll wandered through the Hall's front doors in a volume not seen since the organization's golden age. Like the letters, though, most of them were useless. Fortune-seeking neonates or bored nobles who seemed to be treating the invitation as one to an odd party, waltzing into the building with the expectation of some sort of swashbuckling adventure. The odd heckler, even, dared to make a nuisance of themselves, either complaining at or making a mockery of the Guild's members until they were inevitably shooed out.

Looking out over it all was the wooden Doll from the Translator's Guild Hall those few months ago, feeling confident that if they had a heart, it'd be attacking them right about now. Nestled snugly beside a half-empty pint of bug brew, profiles of the day's batch of hopeful-looking responders sat neatly atop their desk. They'd shuffled through them more than once now, and an equal amount of times had come to the conclusion that they seemed to be a particularly promising lot. A few of the names were even familiar, though they were from a time before his own.

Tentatively, their gaze flicked between a mechanism atop their desk, and the narrow window that allowed them to peak into the hall beyond their office. They could make out the silhouettes of a few of their guests, their distinct shapes and sizes doing little to hide their presence. For a moment, they thumbed around with the idea of a face-to-door appointment, but decided against it when they imagined the sorts of rumours that would spread.

Really now, the head of the Scholar's Guild hiding from interviewees? Forget about their own reputation, the Guild itself would be a laughing stock for years.

Willing themself forward, the timid doll braced themselves and pushed harshly down upon the mechanism. At their press, the device whirred to life, pulling an attached string taut and sending a wave of movement along its length. In the hall outside, a network of wooden chimes jingled in response from above, a signal for the visitors below to guide themselves into the Head Scholar's office.

 

[Chak]

Getting anywhere had never been an issue for Daybreaker unless it involved enclosed spaces, and heading towards the Scribe's Office in the Translator's Guild didn't involve tight spaces. Instead any Dolls that heard or saw him coming, which was all of them given his bulk and the noise he made as he walked, the crowd parted like water around a stone. Of course as nervous as many of the Dolls here seemed to be in his presence, the honest truth was that no one was less pleased to be amongst the crowds than he currently was. He hadn't ever been a fan of crowds, especially given that he hadn't been back to Alexandria from the Barrier City in at least three decades.

In the Barrier City most knew of him, left him to his own devices and allowed him a semblance of peace, only coming when his help was needed with Mites or Puppets. Alexandria had, in stead, reminded him how little he fit in, how much of a spectacle his existence was for your average every day Doll. Here he watched as scholars scattered at his every step, and he had felt eyes on him ever since he had arrived.

All because of the summons of a Head Scholar, one of the thinkers.

What they needed from him, what they exected from him, he really wasn't certain. He hadn't read the letter that was sent. Truth was, he didn't know how. Reading hadn't ever been something he needed. He could speak, he could name, and he could still sign in the nonverbal his old companions and he had learned for when the attentions of words spoken were best avoided. It had been an old acquaintance that had recomended he come, and with the borders becoming more and more secure, Daybreaker had been finding himself with less and less to do. This was as good as anything else, he just wished it didn't come with so much attention.

As the hulking Doll neared the doorway to the Head Office Daybreaker found that yet again he was going to have to duck and squeeze through the door. Pushing his way through the portal, being careful not to catch any of his armor nor his sword on the frame, the warrior found himself a spot near the wall to sit against, knowing full well that the chairs he'd found weren't meant for him. Resting the Fallen's Honour against the wall before taking a seat along side it, Daybreaker settled himself in as he awaited the others that were bound to arrive in time.

In the meantime, however, he regarded the Doll at the desk he had as of so far ignored, "Seems that you have sent out a call for many, some different, others like this one," he stated, regarding himself, "Of course this Doll is no scholar, nor history studier. This one is a warrior, and does not understand his need in Alexandria, but if you have called for warriors, then we, Daybreaker by name, have chosen to heed your call. Greetings."

 

[Lazaro1505]

312 years....... has it really been this long since his birth from the great Chute of the Library. While he was lucky to even survive this long, especially due to his nature, he was not sure what else to gain from working as a Scholar anymore. Time has pass.... and dangers have gotten worse, so he figured that he should retire soon into a more peaceful life.

These were one of many things that were going through this short but intimidating porcelain doll of strange shape, a singular slightly curved blade resting on the right shoulder pad, it’s right hand keeping it up. Yato Shinzo..... that was his name that he had given himself a few minutes after his birth. He had been living in Alexandria his entire life, but even then, some of the more newer dolls would be curious about Yato. Everywhere he go in the city.... he would at least have a couple of stares sent his way.... either in curiosity or in fear.

But he wasn’t walking around for nothing, for he was planning on retiring soon into a more peaceful life. But unlike most others, he would like to end his adventuring life with a bang, and the strange letter he received a week ago will help him achieve this goal. It was from the Head Scholar, and it was a call for help.....one of great importance. And he believe that this was the perfect way to end his career.

Making his way down the path to the Scholar’s guide, his journey was to say the least..... a quiet one. But at least he was not threatened with the risk of losing a limb, for his careless action from his last adventure placed many noticeable cracks in his right leg. While it would do nothing to inhibit his fighting, it’s not what it would have been when at its prime.

A short while later, he was quickly making his way down the Hallway and to the door that lead to the Head Office. His small frame was perfect... for it seemed a door like this won’t be bothersome at all, before entering into the Head Office.

The first few things that were noticeable upon entry, were the two dolls stationed inside, one behind a desk, and another that someone his size would call a behemoth. Walking to the behemoth resting upon the wall, “Greetings there....” before walking past him and heading towards the closest chair in his proximity.

Laying the porcelain sword down on the floor in front of the chair, before slowly resting upon the chair. Looking at the doll behind the desk, he said outloud “Greetings there..... I am here for the problem you have. I am not here for fame, or riches, but simply to help with what you need.” before stopping a bit. He then realized something, “Ah.... I have almost forgotten to tell you my name. Sorry for that, but you may call me Yato Shinzo, or Yato for short.” before becoming quiet once more, waiting for a response.

 

[QuirkyAngel]

Risk (and Rowdy)

Risk flinched a bit when the wooden chimes above the halls suddenly sounded, alerting them to enter the Head Scholar’s office? Had the time for the interview come? Already? The wooden doll with half white, half black hair—made from thin fine thread—wouldn’t know. He’d been too busy pacing the halls, listening while the small, limb-less ragdoll in his arms gave off one advice after the other.

“—you need to tell him that you’re a skilled sprinter. That you’ve successfully escaped a mob of 100 mites when you wandered away from civilization for a job once.”

“I-I haven’t though?” It’d been only one mite…and it hadn’t even been that far away from the city. Even if had been a bit outside of a safe area, he hadn’t expected a mite to have wandered so close when he went out to gather materials. It was mostly luck that he'd escaped.

“Fool! Everyone fibs a little during interviews.”

One hundred was a little? Risk wasn’t as bright as Rowdy, but even he knew 100 was a big number. A huge number. As high as he could count really. Still, Risk didn’t want to argue with his brother, especially when he knew how much Rowdy wanted them to be scholars. The letter sent out had been quite enticing. Risk didn’t read it, but Rowdy had. Read it aloud to Risk, in fact.

The Truth.

Fame, Glory, and Riches.

Riches was the important part.

Everything the head of the Scholars Guild wrote about aligned with what Alabaster Ken told them regarding Scholars. Rowdy wanted a “BARBIE Transformation”. He wanted to look like in the ‘people’ in the pictures. Rowdy didn’t have to say it aloud. The way he stared longingly at the images was enough for Risk to know. Rowdy was his ‘brother’. His family. Everything he knew now, he owed to Rowdy. Therefore, he would make Rowdy’s wish come true.

Looking over to the door of the office, Risk swallowed, hugging Rowdy tighter.

“Straighten your back and walk forward, Risk. Confidence is the key.”

Nodding, Risk did as told. There were a couple of others already inside. A couple of…porcelains? They didn’t really look wooden, except for the large one in armor against the wall, but neither did he. One was already confidently talking to the head scholar—A Doll with a pretty intimidating presence.

Risk cleared his throat, repeating the word ‘confidence’ in his head like a mantra. For some reason, it actually worked…a little. “Are you The Magnanimous Professor? My name is Risk and this my brother, Rowdy. We want to be Scholars for the Guild.”

The One Eyed Bandit Lazaro1505 Chak

 

[CerpinTaxt]

Scarecrow

The doll held the letter in their hands, staring at it for a few moments before raising their head to stare up at the large building before them. Of all the people to get a letter from the Scholars, Scarecrow expected themselves to be one of the ones at the bottom of that list. Then again, maybe they had been. By the look of it, a multitude of the letters had been sent out so it wasn't out of the question that they had gotten desperate enough. Scarecrow could even remember when the letter had been handed off to him, which brought a shiver to his spine.

A recovery job that had gone more than a little bad. The entire group he'd been sent to look for had all turned to Puppets by the time he'd arrived. Morphed into a horrific spider of porcelain and wood with multitudes of heads that had been content with tossing its battered body parts at him, which flailed of their own accord as gaping mouths screamed and eyeless sockets stared at him in the oppressive darkness that was only found when a Doll had gone too far from civilization. He could still feel those cold fingers trying to remove his mask when he was attempting to rest. He never finished the creature off, leaving it to wander the depths of the library once he'd obtained what'd he'd needed from their belongings.

The letter had been waiting for him in a little bar in Barrier City, having apparently been sent between Alexandria and Barrier City a multitude of times. He had no constant place of residence, after all, and he'd moved from place to place before the letter could catch up to him. Until that day. He stared at the contents for a few minutes, unsure of what to make of it all. The Scholars were desperate for sure, that was for sure.

"You should go." The bartender spoke up, a doll made of cloth. A former Scholar themselves, but far older than Scarecrow. One that had been successful enough to retire, and open their own little business. "Not many go out into the Outer Shallows and even fewer return. The fact you do it by yourself means you're already a good asset wherever they put you! Besides- I doubt any of the ones you used to run with decades ago are around. Not exactly a job where many grow old, trust me!" The older doll laughed to themselves. "If they're this desperate for people, then someone who's navigated out there and knows the Library is a vital asset."

That had been months ago. Days of that bartender doing their damndest to convince him had made him crack. He'd go, he said. But now that he was actually here he felt unsure. He felt more at home in the Twisting than here. His beaked mask hid the incessant biting of his bottom lip, but his heavy boots couldn't conceal the nervous tapping of his right foot. A lot of time had passed since he'd been here, the rational part of his mind reminded him that it was unlikely anyone there recognized him but he couldn't help but second guess himself. He decided to watch those that had arrived before him make their way inside. They stuck out in different ways, one far larger than any Doll he'd seen before, and the other with a peculiar appearance.

The chimes of the bells told him it was time for the group to make their way inside the Head Scholar's office, one final chance for Scarecrow to make his exit yet the sight of that horrific..thing he'd seen ages ago popped into his head. He couldn't let another group end up like that. He clenched his fists and with a shaky resolve, he took those steps to the office. His past reputation be damned. He glided past a wooden doll, one that seemed to share in his uncertainty.

His boots clicked against the floor as he made his way into the office, letter in his left hand as he stared at the man at the desk. Despite his newfound confidence he still managed to stammer as he spoke, a boyish voice echoing out from him. "Courier, and wandering traveler Scarecrow. I've ah- come to respond. To the letter." He stood there, not taking a seat himself. Mostly because he'd forgotten they'd existed.

The One Eyed Bandit

 

[simj26]

Ramstoke
She had never heard him cackle like so in her whole life. A mad chuckle here, and a giggle there, perhaps, but never an outburst like this. Ramstoke was not eager to know what now stoked the good doctor's humor. She was, after all, in the midst of cleaning up and restocking their inventory, and she would rather that she not be disturbed. She decided quickly that she would try to squirm her way out of the door before Fixe's attention finally noticed her presence.

Too late for her, unfortunately, as Dr. Rupper's head snapped around, his toothless grin looking more empty than usual. "Little Ramstoke! Come, come! I've experienced the most peculiar letter, a most wonderfully penned article!" His long limbs reached over and ushered her closer. She sighed in resignation, and followed him to his side, casting her gaze down upon the letter that she had collected earlier this morning. "See! See how grand and eloquent his wording be! Professor Magnanimous James, Ninth of the Head Scholars! He writes to me-- no, to us? To me? To you? It matters not, but he writes of temptations of riches, fame and glory!" Fixe burst out once more into uproarious hoots of laughter, his limbs flailing about in grand expression. "A quest of truth, indeed! Hoo hoo hoo hoo!"

That was one more 'hoo' than usual. This was very hilarious to Fixe. While Ramstoke was in disbelief of his reactions, and thought that they were perhaps a little too much, she couldn't argue with the fact that the wording of the letter was much too extravagant. She picked it up and read it over, mulling over its contents. She motioned to it, and directed her right sleeve towards the wastepaper bin. While it worried her that these Scholars are perhaps a little understaffed on the preservation area, it was none of her business. If they required Fixe's aid, then they should have come here personally rather than send a silly letter. Better to trash it and call it a day.

"Ooooh no no no no no, Little Ramstoke," Fixe recovered quickly from his laughing fit, and nimbly and gently picked the letter up from the desk. "These letters are signs! Signs that poor Dolls are being bribed into servitude for quaint treasures like the truth! Hoo hoo hoo!" His abnormally long fingers folded the piece of letter into a neat half, then half again, then half once more. Very lightly, he raised one of her hands, and pressed the letter into it. To this day, Ramstoke was always in awe of how dextrous the strange Dr. Rupper was. Though he stood tall, taller than any other Doll she knew, with his spindly limbs, lanky body, and large hands with long fingers, and a face made of mismatched crescents and an oblong, he had a certain touch that no one else could replicate. "I will not have these children be harmed outside of my jury's diction! No no no no no, Little Ramstoke, you will be my hands. Take care of the children for me, if you would very please."

Ramstoke made an expression of disinterest. She was not prepared, not yet. She was merely an assistant, an understudy. Fixe, however, would have no argument with her, and, 'hoo hoo hoo'ing away, he tucked the letter into her sleeve, and pushed her out the door. There was no getting through to him like this, and so Ramstoke resigned herself to her fate.


The day came after the months have gone, and her last plea with Fixe went unheard, for the good doctor had left home before she could let him hear it. Instead, he left a nearly packed bag with essentials of their craft at her door, with a note that read, rather simply, 'Regards!'. She rolled her eyes, but folded the note and stored it in her bag nonetheless.

She and her bag would soon find themselves outside and below the Head Scholar's office, specifically the Ninth one. Curious characters mingled and mangled here and there around the hallway. She supposed that these were the do-wells, as the ne'er-do-wells were ushered out post-haste when they had started to cause a ruckus. Though it was difficult to make out from her mouthless expression, Ramstoke scowled at the circumstances. The proof was in the pudding, and the pudding revealed that the letters were spread out haphazardly, across all walks of life, attracting all sorts of shenaniganizers and trouble-makers. A rather sour pudding indeed, she remarked to herself.

There was no more time to ruminate over Fixe's poor choices for her. The bells chimed, and the whole crowd was invited up and into the Head Scholar's office, specifically the Ninth Head Scholar's one, which, possibly, might have been the same as the First through Eighth's, Magnanimous or not. She found herself being almost crushed amongst the throng of bodies, and she hugged her bag to her chest, undecided if that act was supposed to protect her or her bag, as she was jostled along the crowd.

The atmosphere cleared up as they neared the Head Scholar's office (the Ninth one), and she shuffled into the room, behind other Dolls. Her eyes darted across them, and made certain (temporary) notes of their make, size, and materials. It was Fixe's habit that had been passed on to her, to size up patients before they became patients, and to prepare beforehand. Her conclusion? She would need a lot more than just one bag of supplies to fix the whole lot of them, provided of course if she or they weren't immediately ejected from the premises for being shenaniganizers.

She waited patiently for the other, almost grandiose and most creative introductions were offered. She could imagine Fixe's 'hoo hoo hoo's if he had heard them speak and act. Though her expression remained just as unreadable as ever, on account of her lack of a mouth, she almost smiled at the echoes of the doctor's laugh.

Before others could cut in and contribute more meaninglessly meaningful words and actions to the pool, she stepped forth and curtsied daintily. "Ramstoke, representing Dr. Rupper. A pleasure," she greeted the Head Scholar with a muffled, scratchy voice, then fell back into silence.

 

[Azure Sky]

Spook​

"Scary. Very scary."

Multiple thuds could be heard as the wooden doll walked towards the Scholar's Guild. He presumed they needed research. Research beyond their area of comfort and safety. Thus was the fate of those that wanted to solve mysteries. It was dangerous and they needed help. Protection, stichting, weapon smithing, fighting expertise, one name it. Spook could not say he understood it. The point, that is.

Sure, everyone had his own passions, ideals, and skills, but why venture through such dangerous areas just to find the truth. Was the truth more important than life? Familiarity was boring, and the new was interesting. Yes, he heard that before. What was wrong with boring, though? What was wrong with being cozy? Spook would never understand those daredevils. Thinking about it, some of them were so much older than him that they could be called ancient. "I guess wisdom does not necessarily come with age."

Yet, everyone was very fascinating. Their way of thinking, their demanour, their dreams, their... uniqueness. Foolish or not, smart or not, strong or not, Spook found them all endearing. No matter what, he would protect them. Die for them if necessary, because beyond what they might have, or not, thought of him, to Spook, they were family. With that thought in mind he entered the premises of the guild.

"Whooa, so many dolls in one cramped space." Spook got nervous. As always, he jumped head-first into situations, but on the social side, he was very shy. He just stood there, analyzed everyone, and waited, frozen in place, like he became a scarecrow. Shortly after, the sound came. Sound which signaled, what Spook thought would be, mayhem and tragedy. He walked towards the source, the thuds of his wooden legs being lost in the sound of many others.

 

[GasMaskie]

Solo​

The letter that the doll had carried in its armored hands was likely one that wasn't intended for it. After all, it's not as if it addressed the ragdoll specifically. Even so, the prospect of working with the Scholar's Guild interested Solo. There was little chance that anyone there would recognize the doll they used to be. Better yet, there'd be an opportunity to make both a tidy profit and hunt down more mites.

And so, this lead to the curious situation the loner found themselves in. Others, of course, kept their distance from the armored doll, many too terrified to even be caught catching more than a glimpse of the strange looking warrior. Even then, however, there were all sorts in attendance. The wanderer had to question just how many letters had been distributed. Chances had lined up - it was about that time to return to Alexandria with spoils from their hunts.

Still holding the letter, they found themselves glancing upwards at the sound of the wodden chimes. And (having a fairly good amount of personal space), carefully advanced forward, not wanting to find another doll having been accidentally skewered on one of their numerous spikes. After a quick look, the hunter was the next to enter the room.

"...Solo. I slay mites and pick their corpses clean for anything of value... That's about it." The ragdoll's voice certainly matched their outward appearance. Its eyeless visage stared at the professor and the cold shell of its prey gave no hints to the expression that lay underneath.

 

[Lucem]

Bishop Love
No matter how many times he visited Alexandria, Bishop always found himself looking to the Great Chute. Many years had passed since he descended from the unreachable channel that birthed many Dolls, but the memories of that day were still fresh in his mind. Things had changed somewhat since then, one of the most obvious differences being the mat that had been set up. It was a simple addition that would make every Doll's first awakening a comfortable one. It was a stark contrast from his own, the painful experience permanently burned into his body. It would be a lie to say that he no longer had any lingering resentment, but that was the extent of the negative emotions that plagued him for so long. They were just the last dying embers of a once burning fire of hate. There was no more room for contempt in his heart. Even if scorch marks remained, his ill will and grudges no longer existed.

Looking away from the Chute, Bishop took in a much more pleasant sight. Despite living in seclusion, he did enjoy seeing the lively community during his routine visits. After separating himself from society for so long out of necessity and obstinacy, it was a pleasure to see the Dolls going about their ordinary lives, something that used to be unthinkable for him. Although, he felt a tad awkward walking around the city without an assortment of goods to deliver. His usual delivery had been made not too long ago, but he felt bad about potentially getting someone's hopes up, his appearance always signaling the arrival of new items for the Dolls to use. He only ever visited places like this when he intended to hand out clothes and whatever toys he had been working on at the time, so arriving now was beyond unusual. This sudden visit was owed entirely to the letter that had been delivered to him months ago.

Removing the paper from his pocket, Bishop read over the message one last time, its contents still providing him with mixed feelings. Even before reading what the sender had to say, he was already surprised by the delivery. Messenger services weren't very cheap, especially for those delivering to his residence. He lived on a border of sorts, an invisible line that marked the separation between Dolls and Mites. In spite of its proximity to the dangerous creatures, it was a safe place to live, but not one that many individuals were eager to visit. The matter must've been of great importance if someone was willing to venture so far to contact him. Well, that's what he thought at first. After actually reading the letter, he wasn't quite sure.

The request wasn't unusual, as many Scholars sought aid during their activities. However, he found it strange that the guild requested him. While he did have plenty of experience with the Inner Depths, it was a mystery why someone would choose to contact him out of all Dolls. Aside from those he delivered goods to, Bishop never had any extended contact with anyone. He was familiar with Professor James and the Scholar's Guild, but that was the extent of their relationship, barely qualifying as acquaintances. It was truly perplexing.

While he still had questions about this quest and his role in it, the circumstances behind it did not impact his decision very much. This was partly because he knew his questions could only be answered by the guild, but mostly because of the opportunities being presented to him. Bishop was a charitable man who did not want for much, but he could not deny that the promise of a reward was tempting. Signatures would be fine compensation for many, but he was mainly interested in earning the favor of the guild and Professor James. If a man in his position owed him a debt, there would be a wide range of possibilities opened up for him. Many thoughts floated through his mind, each pertaining to the promise of a favor. If he accepted the proposal, he'd need to carefully consider what he would ask of his employer. It may not have been a stretch to say that anything was possible. He understood the scope, but his ideas were limited. While he had numerous thoughts, each of them were about his beloved Annabelle. At a time when he was feeling naively hopeful, this opportunity arrived. However, his rational side reminded him that only so much was possible. If nothing else, the quest would make for an excellent opportunity to attend to his personal search. After all, travelling as a group would open many doors that were normally closed to those who explored alone.

Bishop had given it a lot of thought, but he was already leaning toward acceptance. His current attire was proof of that. Rather than the large cloak he usually wore into the city, he dressed more appropriately for an expedition, avoiding any long or bulky clothes. Even if his questions made the job sound less appealing, and he decided to return home, it was better to arrive prepared.

While searching for the spot where he was meant to meet his prospective employer, Bishop took notice of the many Dolls gathering around the Scholar's Guild. Upon closer inspection, he found that the inside held just as many. It seemed as though he wasn't the only one who received a letter. The guild must've been in a dire situation.

Joining the growing crowd, he waited for the wooden chimes to signal that the Head Scholar was ready for him. After knocking on the office door, Bishop looked inside to see several Dolls, each different in size and make. It seemed as though this would be a diverse group, assuming everyone was fortunate enough to make it through the hiring process. That could be a good thing during an expedition.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." Gently closing the door behind him, he offered the group a smile that accentuated the thin lines underneath his gentle eyes. Placing a gloved hand on his chest, he bowed his head, causing long hair to brush against his porcelain cheeks. "My name is Bishop Love. It's a pleasure to meet you all."

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

Ahah.

So many... So many faces and shapes and sizes, cramming themselves into the office. James's brow bent inwards as they each took the liberty of introducing themselves. None of them seemed too-too troublesome, which was already a checkmark better than most of the prior candidates, but...

Their eyes, small black pebbles laid into their wooden skull, darted between each of them, taking a moment longer to linger on those of larger make. If they could have shed a bead of sweat, they would have. With all these Dolls in their office, and so many of irregular make, they couldn't help but feel anxious at the prospect of one of them breaking something.

"Ahem." They 'cleared their throat', as Bishop Love pulled the door shut behind himself. "Thank you for your time. If you've read the letters I'm sure you're already aware, but I am Professor James." Part of them cringed at their own name, or rather, what it reminded them of; it'd already been mentioned, that absurd nickname that'd been foisted upon them. Magnanimous, really? They could have sworn that meddlesome Doll was just trying to cause them trouble.

Honestly. They'd given up on keeping track of how many Dolls had come to them looking for handouts since those letters started going out.

"I-I'll be up front with you and tell you that the letter you received was a touch... Er... Embellished-" The wooden Doll paused for a moment, as if waiting for an earful, before tentatively resuming. "A colleague of mine may have gotten overzealous in his marketing efforts, to say the least, and written them with a bit more of an air of dramaticism than was strictly necessary." While they didn't utter a noise, it was if the Doll's expression itself was sighing as they spoke. They'd had to make this explanation a thousand times too many.

"Though! That isn't to say that your services aren't needed, er..." The Doll's voice trailed off as they turned their attention to the desk in front of them. After a few moments of rustling through drawers and sorting files, they produced a stack of papers, spread them across the desk, and gestured for the other Dolls to give them a look.

"Amongst other things, we're looking for Dolls willing to join in on long term expeditions into the Outer Shallows. You see..." The Doll's voice trailed off for a moment, and their gaze turned upwards in thought. "...Mmm. I suppose it's no secret that supplies within the Inner Depths have been thin for the last couple of centuries, but things really are looking to get rather dire soon. There are quite a few essential materials, especially for um-" He nodded in Ramstoke's direction, "-Medically inclined folk. For course, wood will always be in plentiful supply, but we've projected shortages of even twine within the next five decades, and those projections don't even account for..." Their voice trailed off, and they drifted into thought for a moment.

"Er, nevermind the pedantic. T-to put it plainly, we'd like to sponsor a series of proper scouting forces for the establishment of new colonies beyond even Barrier City's reach, to ensure proper supply for demand in the future, and suchlike. Er. Not that the latter will be of your concern, though. Unless you'd like to try out starting a mayoral career, I suppose. Mmm..." The Doll rambled on, distancing themself further and further away from the topic, until eventually, they recalled what the purpose of the meeting was.

"All in all, you guys- Er, lot, find a safe place to settle, and you'll be paid handsomely. Part of it in advance, and part based on the quality of your findings. Of course, if you give up or die, the latter won't be of much import, but... That's the risk, I suppose."

 

[CerpinTaxt]

Scarecrow

Well, this was a bit..different than he was expecting. Was creating a settlement in the Outer Shallows possible? Of course. He'd seen a few in his travels, after all, and had found the remnants of outposts that had failed and he saw more failures than successes out there. He'd built a career out of retrieving things from out there after all. Scarecrow reached out and took one of the papers that the Professor had placed before them. "I know how...dangerous it is out there." If anything, this whole thing had been inevitable. Doll society couldn't hope to survive without expansion after all. "Is it just us?" Scarecrow gestured to the others that had made their way into the room. "Are there materials in particular that are in higher demand than others?" Questions formed in his head, but he felt unsure asking them, certain that they'd been asked before or someone else would ask them.

He tapped the heel of his boot against the floor lightly for no particular reason. He didn't mind the 'embellishment' of the letter that had been sent out, but it had certainly given him a different idea of what this job they had been asked to do would be. But this was good, something he could assist with. Scarecrow felt he was in his element, and he already had a few ideas of where to get started. But something was bothering him. He'd spent years going out into the Shallows, after all. What if this had been done before? No one goes out there just because they want to. How many of those he'd found had been looking for a promised land to carve as their own? "Do you have parts of the Shallows you wish for us to scout out first? Or are we just setting off into the great unknown?" Whichever way it was, Scarecrow felt that the ghosts of the Dolls who went out before them would lead them. Their ragged remains would guide them on their journey.

"I have to say that I'm interested. My prior knowledge and skillset should prove valuable for where we need to go. Is there a set date we leave, or right away?" He didn't have much else to add, relegating himself to putting his hands into his pockets and looking over at the other Dolls in the room. His beaked mask certainly made him looked rather out of place, but it wasn't as if the others didn't have their quirks.

 

[QuirkyAngel]

Risk (and Rowdy)

An expedition for a new settlement? It was a bigger project than he bargained for given he was just starting out as a Scholar.

Exactly how long was long term?

Who else would be joining them for the expedition? Was it just them?

Those were the questions that ran through Risk’s head though he didn’t voice them out for fear of sounding like an idiot and being ejected from the team right off the bat. The doll that called himself Scarecrow was voicing it all out anyway. Risk didn’t even know about the shortages in the Inner Depths…though he was aware of more collection jobs being available as of late. Those sort of things were settled by important people. Pedantic? What the heck was a pedantic? Risk looked to Rowdy who said simply, “A word meaning like a pedant, often used to describe someone who cares about minor details.”

Professor James did seem to ramble a lot. He also looked a little nervous, unsure of himself, and stuttered a bit was what Risk noticed. But then, most people he knew that could read well, tended to be a bit…eccentric.

At least it didn’t look like there was going to be an interview.

While Risk breathed a sigh of relief, Rowdy spoke in answer to one of Scarecrow’s questions. “Twine was what he said. Twine and medical supplies. I assume any medics in the room could tell us exactly what materials are in short supply.”

Risk peeked at Ramstroke who claimed to represent ‘Dr. Rupper’, though the title itself didn’t mean the doll was a medic. Neither did appearances. Dolls tended to look like all sorts after falling from the Great Chute and BARBIE made it clear that surgery was quite possible—provided all the materials of course.

“It’s a solid question though. Knowing what materials are needed is a good starting point for deciding where to settle. An area with little mites and at least decent lighting would be nice too. Hmmm….”

Not that they would know until they started looking.

Professor James had called them scouts, which meant venturing into the unknown was their job. “Regardless, we’re in. Risk isn’t the sort to give up easily, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

CerpinTaxt The One Eyed Bandit

(mentioned: simj26 )

 

[Azure Sky]

Spook​

I suspected it'd be dangerous.

Spook thought to himself, as he did most of the times. Dolls generally found him scary. There was no need to amplify the fear factor, he thought. Little did he know, that maybe that was one of the main reasons. But that is a story for another place and time. Right at that moment his fears came true. A great expedition. That needed many dolls. Why? Why ask them to put themselves in danger?

These people were scholars, yes? They who sought knowledge above anything else. Was knowledge worth it? Risking getting ripped to pieces for the sake of adventure and new discoveries? What brought them down such a path? How did they get such ideas? Was their train of thought different from others? What was wrong with mysteries?

Am I the one who is wrong?

Spook asked himself these questions often. More often than he liked to. It was, at that point, quite meaningless to ask, though. He had to accept it was dangerous, he had to accept there were dolls that would accept. Whether they accepted him or not, though...

I'll still do my best to save you. No matter what...


The One Eyed Bandit