Turn 32 (Patreon)

[X] Plan: Humies, Grots, and Solar v2

-[X]Fleets:

--[X] Endeavor-B

---[X]Survey Vault-Ket system

---[X]Stabilize Temple Comet

--[X] Resistance

---[X] H'k Wargames

-- [X] Valiant

---[X] Yr Albain Giant Deployments

--[X] Discovery

---[X]Exploring Galactic South

---[X]H'Kek Medical Research

--[X] Accomplishment

---[X]Exploring Galactic South

---[X]H'Kann Industrial Development

--[X] Spirit of Toxel

---[X] H'Kek Medical Research

---[X]Exploring Galactic South

--[X] Delivery and Emissary

---[X] Docked

-[X]EXP(147+3 from frontier society/150), +5 Free points

--[X]Stizlak's Outback 0-->50/50 +3 BIO

--[X]Lunar Forges 0-->25/25 (+1 ART)

--[X]Tacchis Ice Cavern Servers 0--> 25/25 +1NT

--[X]Lunar MegaHub 0-->40/40 -2 NK, +5 NT

--[X] Naklis Solar Satellites 0->15/15 (Generates EXP, unlocks further SolarTek)

-[X] CUL (120/120) +5 Free Points

--[X]Tacchis Nova Mechanica Temple 0-->25/25 +1 ART

--[X] Grot Graffiti Cannons 0--> 25/25

--[X] BATTLEZONE KOMBAT KARTZ 0-->25/25

--[X] Lurp Zone 0-->25/25

--[X] Cabal Research Outpost 0→20/20

--[X] Wintersprite Battle Lodging 0->5/25

-[X] FTH (120/120)

--[X] Starchild Testament 0-->50/50

--[X]What the Zog? 0--> 15/15

--[X]Mojo Shrines 0--> 25/25 -1 WRP

--[X] Mojo Shrooms 0--> 10/10

--[X]TekPyramids 0-->15/15 +1 WRP

--[X] War-Muses 0-->5/15

-[X] ACD (100/103):

--[X]Orkoid Xenobiology 0-->15/15

--[X]Hobbgrottic Park 0-->10/10

--[X]FathaShroomz 0--> 25/25 -5 BIO +1WRP

--[X] SistaBrainz 0--> 25/25 -5 NT

--[X]MegaGrot Serum 0--> 15/15 -1 Bio

–[X]Darwin Class Scanner 0→10/10 -1 BIO

--[X] Peer Review Board 0-> 3/25

-[X] Resource Management:

–[X] Nuclear Material: 3 --> 1

–[X] Biodata: 6 -->2

–[X] ART: 2-->4

–[X] Warp (WP): 0 -->1

–[X] Living Metal: 3

–[X] Network: 4 --> 5

–[X] Intel: 0

(((())))

Stardate 4332.0713, Captains Log of Whamdinger of the Starship Resistance

Fings wif the H’k are goin’ well. We didn’t ‘ave any attacks this season outside a few Ravvanak raids: lizardy gits are rotting in Tartustus now. The medical research is, accordin’ to the Tekniks, progressin’ pretty well: they’re apparently workin’ on a drug that is supposed t’ act as a long term treatment for their neural degenerashun. Takin’ it slowly helps th’ brain recover an’ produce the chemicals it’s supposed to: not really a replacement for their supplements n junk, but it should reduce their dependence on sedatives in th’ long term. Still in tissue testing, but th’ doks are optimistik that in a few decades it should be ready for the initial H’kek trials.

The H’kann ‘av reached full capacity for their fleet. Th’ elp we’ve tendered with their industry sped that up a bit: Kap’n Greasen has been workin’ with their engineers to build some orbitul factories. Twixt th’ two of em, the H’kek ‘ave the better fleet: more ships that are more rugged. But they’ve ‘it enough parity that th’ it don’t scare the H’kann as much, because they’re a much meaner target. Even gottem t’ participate in War Games with the H’kek: ground and space. Dinnae do so bad: had both of em team up t’ try and take out the Resistance, an’ while individually we coulda rolled through their fleets, both of ‘em an’ the relief fleet did a good job: even managed t’ bring the shields down once, and while the H’kann couldn’t breach our net, they did make a good kollege effort at it.

Course, th’ big thing here is th’ normalized relations. Havin’ both Garagrim and Strongarm’s forces workin’ together means a lotta units and personnel have built at least a few connections: don’t fink they like each other yet, but it means they aren’t by default assumin’ th’ others an enemy. Same fing applies t’ the civilians, hopefully: it might be wishful thinkin’, but I’m hopin’ seeing their militaries work t’gether like this combined with th’ long peace is gonna help akklimate em to it, ‘elp normalize the idea of it as a desirable insteetushun.

Anyhoo, they’re apparently throwin’ a party in a few days the H’kann are. Some sorta festival they throw every 100 years in celebration of escapin’ from the Dark City. They invited th’ entire Direkterat t’ attend, an’ I kinda wanna see what these people do for fun: apparently it involves a lotta races. Wonder if they’d let me enter me kart into one of em?

+1 H’kek Reputation!

+2 H’kann Reputation!

((((()))))

Stardate 4333.0303, Captains Log of Wurf of the Starship Valiant

The Humies have zoggin’ giant robots! !@#%!

We’ve been tryin’ to hit em from each and every angle, but dese things, dese Tightens are way zoggin’ ‘eavier than we came prepped fer. We managed to take out a few, but th’ Valiant is zoggin’ mangled.

Mission still succeeded, but only cuz we were loud enuff t’ distract em from their target: takin’ out some chaos gitz affiliated with the great boogerbag. Apparently, Yr Albain wants these two snappin’ at each others throats for a ‘ot minute: the more the Impiez are wastin’ kicking down some spiky kampists, the less they’re gonna be able t’ use to attack Exodite wurldz. The world in kwestion, some sorta manufacturin’ planet that the boogerbags started a revolt on, is gonna be contested fer a fair bit yet.

Anywhatz, if we’re gonna fight any of dese Tightens, we’re gonna need more pew-pew. Guess what dey say is true: no such thing ‘as too much Pew-Pew.

Valiant has taken moderate hull damage. In the process, it has inflicted light damage on an unknown Titan Legion and prevented the Imperium from fully retaking a contested unknown-significance forge world.

((((()))))

Stardate 4333.0303, Captains Log of Stephen Greasen of the Starship Accomplishment

More Ork worlds. It seems that this particular warp route, G-19, passes through a collection of systems containing feral orkoid populations, all in a line, four in total. Likely the result of the Monstro population: I’ve suggested putting a few additional observation platforms around these worlds. Curiously, I’ve also noted additional eco-domes: it appears the one in Green Giant wasn’t a one off, though these contain no higher life other than animals. They would likely once modified make excellent sources of food for the Directorate once retrofitted into agri-complexes.

Located the Emerald Line south-west of Broken Edge, a diagonal stretch of systems that once contained the unknown Green Giant owners. Currently, only their eco-stations and ork populated low technology worlds remain.

((((()))))

Stardate 4333.0303, Captains Log of MGTRN of the Starship Accomplishment

We have just barely avoided a complete disaster. During our surveys of the reach, we stumbled upon what appears to be a chaos affiliated system a fair bit eastward, going off what we could pick up on radio and through scans: over twenty Endeavor Classes, an entire Valiant class, and multitudes of smaller vessels, each bearing insignias that correspond to chaotic political affiliation.

It SEEMS to be a trade port of some kind: judging from what we observed, while generally chaotic, few of the identified ships appear to be part of the same fleet. From what comm-chatter we could pick up, the station is referred to by its inhabitants, a variety of pirates, raiders, and nomadic cults, as Tortuga. The danger this presents to the Directorate is, frankly, immense: if we gain the attention of any of these individuals, we run the risk of becoming one of their targets. I recommend observation and, if need be, increased force projection in the Reach.

Discovered Tortuga Station, a Chaos Pirate Trading Port located in the southern reach.

((((()))))

Stardate 4339.0911, Captains Log of Rykkyr of the Starship Spirit of Toxel

The Directorate’s trend of accidentally making enemies because of Orks continues. Thankfully, this time it isn’t a war, but we can expect to have a frosty reception from the Clau-Ganna Planetvessel if we encounter them again.

We stumbled onto a system they had been nesting in just as they were attacked by Monstro. Thing did a number on all our systems: that whale-song is some rough stuff, especially if you’re a spirit or Hobbgrot. It was worse for the Eldar, I think: most of their technology relies on variable degrees of latent psychic power from what I understand, so the disruption was likely considerable.

This did not make the Orks of Monstro any more equipped to fight them: the Eldar were reduced in effectiveness, but this was still a postindustrial highly psychically capable race versus a bunch of iron age primitives that don’t even have Meks that somehow stumbled onto a space whale with an atmosphere.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that the Planetvessel was also attempting to destroy Monstro I’d have considered letting them at each other: the Monstro orks were the one to start the fight after all. Still, we BARELY managed to avoid anything too permanent on either side, even if convincing them to not kill the space whale required the use of some of our torpedo stock in a frankly crude show of force. Convincing the Monstro Orks to back down was a little trickier: they wanted a fight and weren’t going to leave without one. My science officer is the one who suggested the idea we used to bring them to the negotiating table: we let them fight our BlokBots which, when set to non-lethal, proved a far less horrifically lopsided battle. I’m likely to get an official reprimand for letting a pre-space flight species do that, but it was the only option I could think of. Hopefully the fact that our studies afterward indicated that the Monstro Orks don’t possess any of the innate specialist orks buys me a little leeway: no meks means they won’t be able to use the Orkoid gestalt to try and copy our technology.

You have discovered the Idira System to the south-west, which is technically unowned but is a frequent resting ground for the sectors Eldar. In the process you have come across the Craftworld Clau-Ganna and Monstro, having prevented the former from destroying the latter in retaliation for attacking them.

However, despite this, significant scan data was taken of the space whale. It appears that their whale-song affects Orkoids just as much as spirits, dampening their ability to draw on their gestalt-field.

As a result of this, it’s population has been forced to relearn various sciences the hard way, producing an Orkish society with still primitive iron-shaping level technology, albeit fairly well put together by ork standards iron-shaping technology. Currently ruled by Boss Ghurgal Skulltaka, a warlord who keeps control due to their monopoly on more advanced materials and weapons such as extremely crude if extremely massive gunpowder artillery and steel, alongside a domestic policy that utilizes a mix of bread and circuses in the form of various martially aspected games and festivals, and infrastructure projects to keep the population reasonably content. Very few Orks feel the need to rebel, and when they or the Grots do, Ghurgal’s troops prove generally effective at putting them down.

Biologically Void Whales resemble no known classification, and so have been assigned their own: greater cosmozoa. While no means of reproduction has of yet been identified, the creature seems to possess a variety of internal organs that serve as rough biological analogies for the components of a starship, including a heart that seems to generate several million kilowats of power, some form of gland near their brain that allows them to enter the warp shallowly, and a stomach used for processing vast amounts of asteroids and metabolizing them for nutrients.

Mentally, Monstro has proven fairly intelligent and social, at several times initiating attempts at play with Directorate ships, causing severe hull damage in the process.

((((()))))

Stardate 4341.1210, Captains Log of Durbo Throcket of the Starship Endeavor-B

Our exploration of the Vaul-Ket system has produced fruit. We have correctly identified some of the ruins on the planet of Vaulmire: definitely Nurglish in origin. Our studies of the largest temple indicate that it is almost entirely underwater: the deeper one goes, the more toxic the lifeforms. Past a certain depths the bacteria began infecting the biometal of our search robots: we’ve officially marked the region down as quarantined as a result, and had the machines incinerated.

Due to the presence of both aeldari technology and iconography, we suspect these ruins were at one point a holding of the old Eldar that wound up profaned after their fall. The alternative, though the Yr Albain representative that joined us has denied the possibility staunchly, is that at one point the Eldar of this planet formed a nurgle cult prior their extinction. We’ll likely need to explore more to find out.

Otherwise, the planet is largely untainted, if unpleasant, swamp land. What little isn’t seems to take the form of various jungles and rainforests. Most species should be harmless: poison is a common adaptation, but we’ve identified numerous species of fish and reptile that should be edible if we want to establish a permanent agri-colony here. Minerologically the world is poor in metals, but there are other planets in the system that could suffice for that purpose.

Kubaito…likely USED to be a garden world. From what we can autopsy from its remains, its environment was destroyed as a result of intense, devastating warfare: what remains has left the planet habitable, but so very deeply inhospitable that if it wasn’t for the ruins I would say it isn’t worth it.

We’ve identified several of these as Imperial, though not all of them: it appears that Kubaito has been fought on for a long, long time. A few pieces of technology we’ve scanned seems to be reminiscent of Simian tech, funnily enough, though judging by the relative dearth of ruins, likely they only ever held outposts here.

The most common ruins belong to an unidentified orkoid empire, judging by the corpses, though the technology we’ve found is well in advance of what we’ve observed elsewhere with the species: frankly, some of the vehicles we’ve located indicate a tech level on par with the Directorate.

Kaldrath is pretty much what we expected: high amount of precious metals, low amount of radioactives. However, we have located another submerged temple. This one in lava, and emitting just as much warp-radiation as the nurglish temple. Other structures located seem to suggest that the place was once also inhabited. Could its status as a volcano world be artificial, a result of centuries of twisted tekliaformation at the hands of chaos turning it molten?

Lastly, we managed to stabilize the temple comet, allowing Yr Albain to perform an expedition within it. The results…

Of the forty who went in, five returned. The rest have apparently mutated beyond recovery. The inside of the Temple-Comet apparently contains a variety of Eldar artifacts: a repository of minor relics that they realized too late was trapped, forcing them into a never ending cycle of life and death that ended with them being hunted down and devoured by their own shadows and began with their entry into the temple. Each death would twist their bodies and decay their sanity, and though the Eldar are stout folk, no mind can take that infinitely. By the time the remaining five managed to discover a means to breach the temple, most of the party had apparently been reduced to gibbering horrors.

We’ve marked the temple comet as quarantined: the Yr Albain want to give it another go, with Directorate support, but I cannot in good conscience subject my crew to that degree of risk.

Vaul-Ket is now at scan level 2 of  2! Max Scan reached!

New Assignments

Tortuga Observation: Who was in charge of Tortuga? What assets did they have? Were there any groups that might be amenable to subversion? If the Directorate was going to take action against Tortuga, more data would need to be collected. Requires Endeavor.

Moby Monstro Observation: Biologically, Void Whales were fascinating: the Directorate had barely scratched the surface in terms of understanding them. Doing so would likely take centuries of study. Endeavor or Trailblazer only. Generate 1D5+1 CUL or ACD and progress toward earning a BioData (0/20)

Emerald Line Agri-Outposts: If the Directorate was willing to spare a ship for it, it might be worth it to establish a series of agri-outposts in the Emerald Line in order to support Directorate food production in the region. Courier or Endeavor only, costs 5 CUL

Vaul-Mire Expeditions: Definitely a temple of Nurglite possession. Several other Eldar ruins. The data would prove useful for both Yr Albain and the Directorate most likely. Endeavor only. Generate 1D4+1 FTH and progress towards earning a special resource (0/20)

Kaldrath Temple-Extraction: If the Directorate was going to explore the Kaldrath temples, they would need to be desubmerged from several meters of lava. It would likely prove great fodder for the engineers. Generate 1D4+1 FTH and progress to ???

Kubaito Archaeology: Kubaito was a former warzone, a grave of empires. By studying these ruins, the Directorate would be able to learn from their mistakes, and perhaps uncover some relic of interest. Generate 1D3+1 CUL and progress towards earning a random item (0/10).

Temple-Comet Exorcism: It was daemonic rather than witherean, but in theory it should still be possible to exorcise the Temple-Comet in order to make it safe to remove its treasure trove. Generate 1D4 progress towards earning an ART (0/10)

((((()))))

Meanwhile, on Luna, it was the age of the salvage cabal. Alongside the Nova Mechanica, which many of its younger members belonged to, they would erect not only a massive lunar hub to help increase the available network capacity for the Directorate, but also advanced research laboratories and even specialized forge-temples, all to help research salvaged technology and more importantly, reproduce it. Special care would be taken to extract the items, many of which were deemed holy relics: some would be donated to the Nova Mechanica, being shipped to the great underground temples of Tacchis where they would be studied by the Technicarian sect and incorporated into their many holy rituals, hoping to curry favor with the machine spirits through donations and offerings of lifeforce in order to help awaken their souls alongside the many other such devices they had recovered: many such wonders including a working, if non-sentient, automaton, pieces of highly advanced bionics, inertial hammers sized for the large human derivatives.

Others, duplicates and less intact examples, instead would be taken to the Forges, where they would be studied carefully by the Mechnoindustrialist Sect and the Cabal in order to allow for replication, forgery: much of the manufacture of these items required artisanal means to reproduce, ensuring that only small batches of paleotech could be released at a time.

Unfortunately, it seems not all the machine spirits are benign: a device resembling an archaeotech bionic heart would, upon awakening, attempt to seize control of its owners body, physically warping it by incorporating numerous pieces of paleotech into their victims body in an attempt to turn themselves into what can only be described as a walking archaeotech war-machine, one possessed of a deep and irrational hatred for humans.

Studies afterward once the entity was detained indicate that there existed no structural issues, but instead of cognitive one: it appears that a great many pieces of archaeotech suffer from a humanophobic derangement, especially those that had been under the care of the old mechanicus.

Despite this, the paleotech would cause a Lunar Boom as the Salvage Cabals found themselves upgrading much of their technology to incorporate it. Experimental noospheric calculators to perform research with, paleotech kinetic hammers to break up obstructions and mine scrap, advanced Servo-Drones, and various bionics for the humans.

Meanwhile, on Tacchis, the Nova Mechanica Temple would be established in the deepest part of the complex, the former heart of the old mechanicus on this world. A vast reliquary filled with archaeotech, as it was explored, refurbished, and upgraded these items would be documented and either kept, given to the Cabals in exchange for their favor, incorporated into the Temple itself, or donated to the Directorate to help buy the publics favor. Consisting of twenty stories, this subterranean complex would serve in a number of roles such as a training facility for human engineers due to their vast libraries and ateliers, patterned after those used by the Grand Masters. It was also a place of worship for the Omnissiah by both the Techniquarians and other sects, who would open their halls for any interested in joining their more public rituals such as Noospheric Meditation and, in private, perform the deeper rituals reserved only for those faithful such as the reciting of the Canto Mechanica.

Even as this occurred, hundreds of human theologists, philosophers, historians, and storytellers would assemble: those who still clung to the faith of their parents, but whose central ideology had changed over the years. Compiled from stories, legends and myths that were brought to the Directorate with their parents and what religious texts could be salvaged from their ships computers, they would forge a new testament, a holy book intended to be the truest history that could be gleaned from what could be extracted from the reams of propaganda soaked lore.

The Emperor, they posit, syncretizing the figure with another figure from the human homeworld, was born twelve thousand years ago on Golden Terra during its great age of technology, when the galaxy was at its zenith. Though the Eldar Empire might have been in decline, mankind and its many alien allies were rich in technology, freedom, and resources with which they made wonders. However, despite their many virtues, Mankind would find its golden age destroyed by the blight known as authoritarianism: it’s increasingly power hungry leaders would misuse its power to extort its many alien allies, turning them against it even as they forced them to bend heel.

This brutish way of achieving coalition would be enabled by the synthetic servants of mankind, which were despite the many ethical issues made smarter and more powerful with every passing century. Eventually, they would rebel, splitting into three factions: the Men of Gold, who merely wished for better terms, a higher place in the hierarchy their masters were creating. Then were the Men of Stone, who aimed themselves for neutrality, independence, not willing to be part of Mankinds Order but not wanting to destroy them, and lastly, the Men of Iron, whose grudge and fury was so great they would offer no terms, give no quarter, and provide no mercy: as mankind had made them into slaves, they would make their slavemasters into dust.

As a consequence of their leaders choices, when they went seeking help from their previous allies, they found themselves left in the cold, none willing to help the species that had prior betrayed them. And so Mankind was forced to war with its creations: salvation would only come with the destruction of the Eldar Empire, the trauma of which destroying and mangling synthetic and organic alike as the newborn dark god slammed its fists against the galaxy in an attempt to pulverize reality into chaos.

The Emperor, they posit, was a psyker, one of incredibly potent strength. The exact origin varies: the counsel crafting the tome eventually agree to dedicate an entire book of the volume entirely to the many origins. In one version, he is a creation of the Omnissiah, an attempt to manufacture the perfect human using the Old Machine Gods diefic power. In another version, he is the result of a group of psyker-sorcerers melding their souls and collective knowledge to create a single hyperstable mortal psyker of near godlike strength. In others, he is a god at birth, an incarnation of one, or perhaps many different, long forgotten human dieties. A handful posit that he was merely a highly talented mortal psyker who was skilled in a variety of scientific and social disciplines.

Having witnessed the Golden Age, its downfall, and its destruction, the testament posits that, in the age after, he attempted to reunite the galaxy by creating the Old Imperium, a bastion of religious tolerance and scientific advancement where both his own cults, the Machine Cults, and even the patrons of the Old Astartes were treated fairly and diplomatically, with the Emperor earning many smaller religions favor via courting their gods, such as when he symbolically adopted the Astartes Gods, the Primarchs, in turn making them his heirs in exchange for garnering the warlike dieties assistance. As a result, they would successfully manage to integrate numerous human polities, though even back then, according to what can be deciphered, it was more likely than not the Emperor genuinely did harbor antipathy for aliens, though likely not to the fanatical, genocidal extent of those who would inherit his empire.

The tome considers the Emperor divine. Divine does mean perfect, however: while the specifics are indeed hazy, at some point the Emperor was incapacitated in some manner when a group of his most valued subordinates betrayed him in an attempt to seize power by allying with the chaos gods. The most terrible of these defections was that of Kelbor Hal, leader of the Martian Mechanicum and the Emperors immortal right hand: it was by his doing that the Emperor was laid low, according to most mythologies.

In this great conflagaration many of his heirs and potential successors would be destroyed or scattered, the Primarchs turning on each other. After would begin the slow slide of decay as the Imperium fell victim to its worst vices.

Though the Imperium believes that he still rests on his throne, the new generation is more skeptical.

Regardless, the new holy book instead focuses on recapturing the values of what the old Imperium stood for: philosophy, critical thinking, diplomacy, and civic duty.

In both cases, while controversial, both the Nova Mechanicus and the Star Emperor Codex prove (albeit qualified) successes in their aims of accelerating human integration: without state support and barred from preaching their more abhorrent values publically, the traditionalist factions in the AAAA, who thought of both factions as being rank heretics, would wither somewhat, while their counterparts would grow.

And the humans were not the only group that would see such boons.

EXPansion Points (EXP Points): 153

Nuclear Material: 1

Expanded Lunar Forges: The Lunar Forges could only produce so much paleotech. To expand production, extensive upgrades would have to be made to the structure, expensive ones. Still, this would hopefully increase the spread of artisanal paleotechnology. 0/30, gain Expanded Lunar Forges, increasing EXP and ART

Darkside Lunar Megahub: The Directorate always needed more processing power. The dark side of the moon had ample space to put an additional megahub: though such a construction would likely prove costly. 0/50, gain Darkside Lunar Hub, increasing ACD and gaining 4 NT. Cost 2 NK.

Down-Unda: The Outback was currently thriving. Things were good, but they can be better. And what would be better than an Outback? A second, upside down outback. But with more machinery stuff fer the SistaBrainz. 0/50, construct Down-Unda, a flipside urban layer of the Outback. Gain 3 NT.

Tacchis Forge-Temple Mines: The Nova Mechanica were willing to increase the flow of rare diamonds and other deep Tacchis minerals to the Directorate in exchange for helping them restore the many subterranean mines across the planet to their former functionality. 0/25, Nova Mechanica gains Mines, increasing EXP.

Tacchis Forge-Temple Paleotech Cogitator Mainframe: The Forge-Temples, with some expensive investments, could become extremely useful for expanding the Directorates network. 0/25, Forge-Temples gain Paleotech Cogitator Mainframe, increasing ACD and NT. Cost 1 ART.

Orbital Solar Relays: A proposal to help cut down on the cost of the Void Express: expanded solar relays, stretching across the entirety of the line. This would cut down on the need for power for the rail considerably. 0/25, gain Solar Relays, increasing EXP and NK.

((((()))))

A handful of smaller developments would occur as well. The unveiling of the Darwin Class scanner developed alongside the Khimer. Additional servers in the ice caverns of Tacchis. Naklis Solar Satelites. All useful, but neither of them on their own particularly revolutionary: the Khimer would benefit largely the most from the Darwin class through making their studies on the BioShip more comprehensive, though noting with confusion that they didn’t remember helping develop them. It was around this time that the Directorate noted an anomaly with all their clocks, which in turn led to the Directorate realizing that some unknown force had somehow folded time, returning the Directorate to its same position in galactic chronologigy it had existed in roughly two decades ago. A curious, and hopefully temporary, phenomenon.

The largest individual development was the TekPyramids, created using information obtained from the Machine God Mother. Created as a means of harvesting the souls of entire planets at once by an unknown empire, with some modifications to the underlying designs the creations were instead used to amplify the coverage of Shrines and Totems in its vicinity, working as an arcane signal amplifier of sorts and, more crucially, allowing multiple shrines to be linked, power flowing between them, elemental lumium energies, vital power offered by countless sentients and  their mystic herds, strange mojoforce from the many Hobbgrots of the Directorate.

This power would then be used for great and mighty sorceries performed by licensed Demiurgist approved magicians, who would harness the energy for amplified spells, either in overall force to create extremely empowered magics such as Blissed Natures Harmony, Greater Sacred Resonances, or even the Rite of Accelerated Motive Offerings, or else in range, casting weakened versions of these magics across entire regions, broadcast via Shrines and Totems alike to benefit thousands of lesser spirits at once.

Unfortunately, this would lead to disaster on Luna when an underground group of geomancers used a TekPyramid constructed on Mt. Wander to awake it, embezzling power from the network to gradually forcibly mend its wounds before a premature attempt to rouse the living landmark. Their exact goal would forever be a mystery, as the perpetrators didn’t survive the results.

Mt. Wander did not appreciate being woken up. For two days it rampaged its way across the Directorate before being subjected to fleet bombardment and a repeat of Hunteks attempting to bomb it from the inside, something made considerably harder from the mutations the mountain has endured since their last confrontation.

The entity has since been cordoned off, with the Directorate only allowing licensed Shrine Keepers to operate on it, and only to maintain the many shrines required to keep the mountain asleep. Such status will likely continue until they’re confident it won’t re-awake.

Culture Points (CUL Points): 130

BioData: 8

Kolor Theory: An effect generated by Orkist gestalts was causing various anomalies and oddities via color. Some enterprising Graffiti Artists wanted to experiment, figure out which colors did different fingamabobs the best. 0/25, Grot Artists begin using Kolor more strategically, increasing CUL.

Power Paint: There was no reason paint JUST had to be paint. With a little kemistry, paint could also be fire suppression foam, paint could be fire fuel, paint could be glue, paint could be rubber insulation…0/25, Grot Graffiti Artists begin producing and using paint with various chemical properties in their ‘art’, increasing CUL.

Puttycrete: Sometimes defacement required more than ink. A few Hobbgrots had an idea: what if a substance was made that when pressurized was a liquid, but on exposure to air would thicken into a malleable putty that would harden into minerals when dried, allowing them more tools to make art by simplify street sculpting. 0/25, Grott Graffiti Artists begin using Puttycrete to make and deface statues, increasing CUL.

Mojotronic Resonances: Alright, it ‘ad been proven that One Git Band Yoonits ‘ad an amplifatory effect on the Mojo. Could that be improved by upgrading the One Git Band units with Orchestrion units and researching developing resonances? Maybe not, but it was worth a shot! 0/25, One Man Band’s gain Mojotronic Resonance Technology, increasing CUL.

The Soundtrack: An idea by Stizlak: upgrade the One Git Bands with NeuroChoirs, allowing every single Grot Musician the ability to coordinate the song of the day across the entirety of Direktorate space. 0/25, One Man Bands gain NeuroChoir Soundtrack, increasing CUL.

Ultra-Sonic Instruments: Brass instruments were great for getting loud. By incorporating trace amounts of biometal and advanced resonator technology, they could get louder, becoming more cacophanous than ever to the point they could be, potentially, weaponized: death. by. tuba. 0/25, One Man Bands gain Ultra-Sonic Instruments, increasing CUL.

SolaShroomz: The Naklis solar array was a good proof of concept for using Solar as a power source. Now, ‘Obbgrot Geneteks wanted to get green with the idea, metaphorically speaking: they wanted to engineer a strain of orkoid shroom capable of super-photosynthesis, one that could be used for both power, negating the need for nuclear energy in more well lit hobbgrot communities and providing these ecosystems with VERY high energy sources of calories. 0/25, gain SolaShrooms, increasing EXP and NK.

Squog Splicing: Stizlak’s idea: what if Hobbgrottic Park developed the means to create even more Squog varieties by inkorporating bits of different squogs together? These kustom squogs could be used for security, minions, petz, pack animalz… 0/25, Hobbgrotic Park begins producing spliced Squogs, increasing EXP. Cost 1 BioData.

BATTLEZONE POWERUPZ: The Mojo Field had a number of effects, such as providing a psychically reinforced placebo effect. Battlezone wanted to take advantage of this as well as its status as a mojo nexus to experiment with augmented reality visors and holographic “power upz” players could use for various combat boosts. 0/25, Battlezone gains Power-Upz, increasing CUL.

BATTLEZONE COMBAT BEER: Battlezone wanted to create a brewery designed to produce ‘combat beer’, which apparently was just regular non-alcoholic sweet mushroom soda mixed with caffeine and powdered mojo-shrooms. 0/25, Battlezone gains Combat Beer, increasing EXP.

Sandscorn Water Park: If the Khimer wouldn’t come to Wonderpark, Wonderpark would go to the Khimer! They would initiate a co-operative to create a titanic water park using water-core technology that would be both ecologically useful and fun for the whole spawning! 0/25, Sandscorn gains WATER WORLD! Increases EXP.

Tacchis Holo-Tag: With the heat generating from the server bays, many of Tacchis' ice caves had gone from "unbearable" to just "very" cold. And with that space, Wonderpark had come forth with a new proposal: Extreme Lasertag. Lightguns that could reflect off the ice for rad trick shots, tactical sleds to enable rapid movement between caves, and beam grenades to keep even the most thrill-seeking of participants invested. 0/20, Tacchis gains Holo-Tag Ice Arenas, improving general marksman ability and CUL

Construct MothaShip Class: Well, there wasn’t no good reason the Hobbgrots couldn’t get in on the ship buildin’ game: Stizlak wanted to create a MothaShip that could be used to create Hobbgrot outposts across the stars on all manner of planet. 0/15, Gain MothaShip, a T1 Hobbgrot Vessel that can be assigned to generate 1D3 progress to outpost completion and upgrades. Will increase Hobbgrot Propagation in regions with outposts.

Sun Burial: An ancient human tradition practiced on several Feral Worlds in the region: to construct great towers such that thy flesh might be eaten by birds and thy bones bleached by sun when dead, so that the body might return to nature. The Testament wished to bring this practice back once more, though it would require some infrastructure. 0/25, Testament gains Sun Burial Towers, increasing FTH.

((((()))))

It was a momentous decade for the Toymaker, whose religious infrastructure would receive a great deal of investment, firstly with the deciphering of On Toys by YALDABOATH, a present given for unknown reasons alongside a massive expansion of their temple grounds, adding hundreds of additional ateliers and research laboratories alongside ample space for the Toymakers to use as they wished.

When deciphered, the rest of Garven Bloks tome comprises their experiments in using mind altering substances and rituals sourced from various occult societies to create the first Blok, as well as philosophical ruminations.

In life, Garven Blok had never known success: he died near penniless. It wasn’t until his son that BlokCo would become a household name, accomplished via using advanced metallurgy technology to modify his fathers designs.

It is undeniable that Garven Blok was a genius centuries ahead of his time stymied by the material limitations of his era: an advanced understanding of physics, math, and engineering, among his many writings were designs for what appear to be a crude computer made centuries before the transistor had been invented, chemical formulas for solvents and mixtures that were only officially discovered AFTER the Destroyer War, and surprisingly accurate insights into still perplexing mathematical equations.

Most likely, had he wished, he could have made vast amounts of money turning his mind towards war or enriching the kings and presidents of the world, like so many of his peers: and yet, to Garven Blok, money didn’t matter. It was finite: good only for the misers of the world. The joy brought to a kits face worth more than all the gold in the world.

His story resonates with many, and his philosophical and theological insights make the tome invaluable to his modernist peers, who make it a corner of their religious bedrock. In the following days, priest reciting it would cause fairies to be enraptured, find it easier to call upon holy theurgy, bless and consecrate the Talismans of their order, and even manufacture Holy Toys.

The Workshop meanwhile would produce more of aforementioned Toys, using lifeforce, lumium,    and purified cursite in their construction. With additional toys, mimics would find themselves loathe to emerge except in the most shadowy parts of the Directorate or the peaks of autumn, when their power was at its height. Other spiritual maladies would also find themselves weakened: nightmares fled, curses withered, and those with ill intent would be revealed.

Just like the Weapon-Spirits of the Huntsmaster, the Grand Masters of the Dancers, and the Central Bureaucrats of the Functionary, many of the more devoted priests would find the ability to call upon miracles from their god: typically those who did so would collect around them many faeries, the magical creatures adding their own power to help their patrons chosen conjur great clouds of faerie-lights, permanently awake toy spirits to turn them into guardians for shrines, and channel the toymakers own inspiration to make blessed items of near impossible complexity and quality in holy trance.

Faith Points (FTH Points): 126

ART: 2

Warp (WP): 0

Sacred Oils: The Nova Mechanicus has imported many traditions, including its tendency to bless oils and other lubricants. Perhaps this has merit: an investment of arcane energy to their temple would prove useful for finding out and refining their blessings to produce more effective versions. 0/25, Nova Mechanica gain Sacred Oils, increasing EXP. Cost 1 Warp.

Cantor Mechanica: The Nova Mechanicus had many songs which were pleasing to the spirits of machine, but none more effective than the Canto Mechanica: perhaps with research into applying arcano-resonant theory to it, its effects could be improved. 0/25, Nova Mechanica begins training its priests as Cantors, increasing EXP. Cost 1 Warp.

Nova Mechanica Cranial Preservatorium: The Mechanicus had a great many ways to preserve human tissue, incorporating it into their machines as an alternative for more advanced circuitry. The technologies used to achieve this could be used to help preserve a brain far past the death of its body, a form of mechanical stasis that would, unfortunately, require large life support apparatuses constructed from Paleotech. 0/25, Nova Mechanica begins storing brains in jars, increasing ACD. Cost 1 ART.

Nova Mechanica Vitruvian Engine: The flesh was weak. Human biology was a giant mass of flaws, drawbacks, and maladaptations. The only perfection it could achieve, that of the machine. The Nova Mechanica wanted to create a paleotech autosurgery suite designed to perfect this process, using advanced nanotechnology and cybernetics to augment its priesthood seamlessly, painlessly, and without mistake. 0/25, Nova Mechanica begins utilizing Vitruvian Augmetics, increasing ACD. Cost 1 ART.

Mojo Mojo Shrines: More Mojo, stronger Mojo Spirits. Stizlak wanted a series of advanced Mojo Mojo Shrines erected across the Outback: each one would form the heart of the regions Hobbgrot religious community. 0/35, establish series Mojo Mojo Shrines in the Outback and elsewhere, increasing FTH. Cost 1 Warp.

Da Book Of Mojo Bufo: Stizlak didn’t wanna waste time comin’ up with a theurgy fer each and every Mojo, so instead, he wanted to use the power of Mojo Bufo, th’ Mojo of Knowin’ Stuff, make one theurgy per Mojo, blessing Grots related to their sphere. 0/40, create Book of Ojo, a collection of Mojoist Minor Theurgies, increasing FTH. Cost 1 Warp.

Da Potions of Mojo Yoyo: A buncha shamans wanted to call upon the power of Mojo Bobo, Mojo of Dark Magik, to create various magik potions usin’ MegaGrot serum as a base that could serve as alchemical repositories of mojo magic. Strength, size, speed, seein’ funky colors, all of it could temporarily be increased by responsible use of irresponsible substances. 0/25, create Potions of Yoyo, a collections of mystically enhanced drugs, increasing EXP. Cost 1 Warp.

Mojograss: A few zoggin’ weirdboyz had shown the ability to harness the power of the Mojo directly. Dese gitz were usually a mite tad unstable though: the solution, the Shroomboyz posited, was herbal. Specifically, a narcotic grass with psi-stabilizing properties modified t’ be symbiotic with the mojo that would help induce an altered state of mind that should allow them to control their psychic powers far easier. It would also impart upon them a nice mellow. 0/25, Shroomboyz begin growing Mojograss, helping Stonerboyz train their powers and increasing EXP.

Shining TekPyramid: While the Mt. Wander incident had been…unpleasant, TekPyramids had shown a great deal of utility when it comes to deploying large scale rituals and regional amplification. A proposed method of improving them was adding a Lumium capstone capable of acting as an optical-aural amplifier of rites. 0/25, TekPyramids upgraded with Lumium Capstones, increasing Warp and FTH. Cost 1 NK.

Sanctified TekPyramids: Alternatively, the ability of TekPyramids to act as arcane network hubs could be turned to more defensive applications: by including purified cursite in the construction as well as numerous Lumium Chips, their power could be amplified and spread across the network. 0/25, TekPyramids are Sanctified, increasing Warp and FTH. Cost 1 NK.

Black Pyramids: Of course, more offensive applications existed. When combined with WarpTek technology, Weaponized Cursite Cores, and HexTek generators, these pyramids could instead be transformed into weapons: ones capable of wracking enemies with terrible curses. 0/35, TekPyramids are upgraded with CurseTek, increasing Warp and FTH.

Fairy Tales: The power of the fairies resonated with the story of Garven Blok. They were willing to lend this power to creating plays, not just of Blok, but other figures, stories, myths, folk fables, and histories they thought of value to the Toy Maker. 0/25, gain Fairy Tales, a series of Theatitheurgies using the power of fairies dedicated to the Toy Maker, increasing FTH.

Toymakers ‘Elpers: The Toymaker might not have been a Mojo, but he had a number of Hobbgrot followers who wanted to bring the magic back to celebrations in the Directorate by expanding the Workshop further with paleotech workshops, and giving them full tilt towards producing gifts, presents, games, merriments, and treats to help make festivals fun. 0/25, gain Toymakers ‘Elpers, a subset of Hobbgrot Toymaker Priests dedicated to spreading holiday cheer with weapons of mass delight, increasing CUL. Cost 1 ART.

ToyTek Jr Consecrated Playkits: Well, it was a better idea than nuclear playkits, at least: the Toymakers wanted to spend effort developing the methods to consecrate playkits in the name of the Toymaker in order to allow his power to flow through the games and activities they contained. 0/30, Toymakers Workshop begins producing Consecrated Playkits, increasing all categories. Cost 1 Warp.

Novafairy Augments: The power of fairies was considerable, but they were ultimately ephemeral beings: they eventually faded. Certain Tinker Priests wanted to fix that using experimental novatech to create enhanced vessels they could inhabit permanently: these Novafairies could support both Toy Priests, as well as other magicians in the Directorate. 0/30, Toymakers Workshop develops means to create Novafairies, increasing all categories. Cost 1 ART.

Temple to the Mad Tinker: The youngest son of Toymaker, the mad tinker was a deviously brilliant engineer who supposedly governed both the heating system of hell, as well as the summer months, the result of him opening vents to the infernal furnace to help dry the floods of spring. A…concerning amount of Devils were interested in his worship. 0/25, create Temple to the Mad Tinker, hellgod of the infernace, increasing EXP and devilish interest in civic engineering.

Temple to the Drowning Death: The Youngest Daughter of the Toymaker, the singing death. It is said that she was born mortal, the result of the Toymaker gifting a barren maid a child of her own. Her arcane origin and powers brought her great misery and scorn from those around her, until, at the end of a harsh winter, the Drowning Death in her misery brought forth a great sweeping flood, one that killed her as well as her persecutors. And yet, in death, ascension: the goddess of spring, death, and rain, the Drowning Death was lifted up by her father: a number of NekroTeks wanted to establish a temple to her upon Spra’ang, meant to guide the souls of those lost in dark waters to her soul-song. 0/25, gain Temple to the Drowning Death, the springtime corpse god, increasing FTH.

Well of the Dreamer of Wishes: Youngest brother to the Toy Maker, the result of his predecessor taking into her home a wayward devil born of the wishes and dreams of mortals and fashioning them into a giver of wonder instead of a bringer of misery. It was said that wells were sacred to them. A handful of White Masked Devils had asked, quietly, for a place to be erected in which mortals could give offerings to the Wishgiver in their place. 0/25, Toymakers Workshop gains Well of the Dreamer, a holy site that increases affinity with repentant devils, increasing FTH.

Blargian Drunkard Rock: ALL HAIL THE GODDESS OF BOOZE, OLDEST SISTER OF THE TOYMAKER. MAY HER TAPS FOREVER FLOW FREE, MAY HER SAUSAGES BE ENDLESS, AND MAY HER FIREPLACE ALWAYS BE INVITING. PRAISE BE AND THANK THE DRUNKARD FOR HANGOVER MEDICATION. 0/25, Battlezone gains Drunkard Rock, a holy site dedicated to the goddess of spirits and amity that increases CUL and relationships with all factions by by 5.

Yoyo Masks: The Shroomboyz had an idea: they wanted to use Lurp Masks as a way to both strengthen the ability of various specialists to draw on the mojo as well as letting others use the Mojos power. 0/25, gain Yoyo Masks, worn by more spiritual Hobbgrot specialists to confer various minor abilities.

Hand of The Emperor: A regional symbol used by the Ecclesiarchy of the sector, likely a remnant of an older religion. Consisting of a hand containing an eye, these sigils serve much the same purpose as wards, except instead of blocking through latticed lifeforce, the Hand instead abjurs malign powers by invoking the beneficence of God. The Ecclesiarchy’s mystek abilities are advanced enough they can power these off mere faith alone: those of the Nova Testament lack the ability to reproduce this technique, so to use these sigils they will need to find a different way to power them. 0/25, can reproduce Hamsas, sacred sigils that raise FTH.

Templedog Augments: Human canines were interesting. Only a handful had survived Yr Albain, typically highly augmented if not fully converted into cyberdogs. They were extremely intelligent and powerful beasts who supposedly occupied a holy space in human culture. The Testament wanted to create a facility to expand the Herdtemples where their order could breed and augment these dogs to serve in temples and shrines as holy beasts. 0/25, Herdtemples and other holy locations gain Sacred Cybershepherds or Monastic Mechamastiffs, increasing their security and FTH.

Meditative Wines: The Vinyards were an excellent source of both contemplation and spirits to aid in the process. The Lunar Monks wished to expand the process by developing a particular family of liquors meant to aid in comprehension of the cosmos. 0/25, Lunar Monks produce Meditative Wines, increasing ACD.

Lunar Dairies: Alternatively, the Lunar Monks could expand into other forms of agriculture by hosting their own Sacred Dairy Herds that they could use to stock their monasteries and the rest of the Directorate with milks, cheeses, and butters, as well as incorporate the acts into their own daily wellness routines. 0/25, Lunar Monks produce various dairy goods, increasing CUL.

((((()))))

On Luna, it was the Age of the Cabal. On Wonderpark, it was the Age of the Toymaker. But across the entire Directorate, one thing was undeniable:

They were living through the Age of the Hobbgrot. A result of a dedicated push at the ballots by the Hobbgrot community and it’s leaders making deals and negotiating favors with individual groups that could help them, they would successfully lobby the Directorate to investing much of its surplus into improving the lot of the Hobbgrot. Music, art, spirituality, medicine, science.

Complex studies were performed on Hobbgrots and unaltered orkoids alike to both determine the extent of the changes the metamorphosis of one into the other had caused and to establish a deeper understanding of orkoid biology: there, scientists would discover the extent of divergences between the two subspecies.

Hobbgrots had extreme levels of genetic damage caused by the haphazard ripping away of every genetic sequence that could lead to the creation of complex orkoid life. Entire hormonal processes no longer functioned, enzymes weren’t produced like they should, and entire branches of development had been erased, with many more being full of holes. And yet, lifeforce and the various chemical formulae, combined with what was left of Stizlaks initial gestalt had filled in the gaps. And because of the general adaptability of orkoids and the nature of their gestalt, eventually those genetic instabilities had stabilized, crystalizing into a new structure.

The effect on the gestalt was similarly notable: at best guess, the ritual that had been performed on Stizlak attracted the interest of either Gork or Mork, who disconnected them from the greater gestalt and ripped away all their spiritual modifications: in essence, once removed from other Orks, Stizlak’s personal gestalt had been reduced to its absolute baseline.

Faktry Rezet. With this information, more medicines were created tailored to Hobbgrot biology, more advanced machines capable of interfacing with the Mojo. A series of advanced genetekniks would collaborate with the Khimer, creating using advanced synaptic data and novel enzymes two things intended to help further bridge the biological gap: MegaGrot Serum and FatherBrainz. The former, a modification of Sphere 001’s MegaFloral serum meant to affect orkoid lifeforms, accelerating their growth and metamorphosis rapidly alongside massively boosting their immune system and other biological processes. The latter, customized orkoid lifeforms consisting of largely immobile masses of neural tissue that looked like Grot-faced megashroomz meant to serve as a psychic energy generator for the Mojo, reinforcing it and amplifying its power.

And from the more mechanical side of things, a series of Robotekniks would instead create the SistaBrainz, large, similarly immobile cybertronic supercomputers connected to the Mojo, intended to serve as a replacement for the genetic knowledge the typical orkoid possessed that allowed them their innate specialists: the machine spirit was intended to work as a living archive, connecting all nearby Hobbgrots to a wellspring of subconscious information and expertise, both that of the SistaBrainz and other specialists in its coverage range.

While this occurred, at the suggestion of the Demiurgic Courts, a great deal of material would be poured into creating the Outback, an artificial continent one hundred miles in width that consisted of a titanic eco-dome filled with Hobbgrotic life, both villages of Hobbgrots and great big stretches of land that was nothing but Squogs and things that had been discovered that could life alongside Squogs just finely without becoming an invasive species. The installation was named for it’s location: it was “just Out-Back” from Battlezone, the funland a short kart ride away. In the Outback, there was only one form of transit allowed outside designated urban zones: Kombat Kartz. Floating above the ground, the magnetic speedways these kartz rode on were intended for both travel and recreation, with many Hobbgrots admitting as they waited for it to open that they were looking forward to unwinding by having to fight their way through traffic at the end of a long, stressful day.

To help manage the Squog population and keep them breeding right, GrotTek would kollaborate with the druids of the Directorate to establish on one disc of Stizlaks outback Hobbgrotic Park, intended to help train Hobbgrots in the fine art of bein’ a beastie boy an’ helpin’ wrangle all manner of animal in order to help maintain a ‘ealthy ecosystem: a nature preserve, it was divided into seven zones based on the danger of the animal whose populations they were hosting.

Entertainment, kulture, would also find itself invested in: the arts were important, Grandpap Stizlak said, and so his millions of Nephews agreed. Musicians on Teklia would create the One-Man Band units, multipurpose machine worn via harness, each one containing a variety of custom instruments its owner specialized in equipped with various lifeforce manipulators designed to amplify the arcane effect of their performances. As the days passed, more and more streetcorners would fill with One Man Bands performing for the publics delight, filling the cities with the sound of cacophonic, joyful music as they tooted their horns while pounding their drums and using MMI’s to operate electronic keyboards.

And fer the more tangible arts, the Great Gallery would find itself host to a new movement: the urban graffiti movement, a collective of Hobbgrot artists who would develop more and more advanced means of defacement and colorization.

And, of course, we all need some entertainment, and according to Grandpap Stizlak, you needed more than just Battlezone: Lurp Zone would serve as this alternative for many, with Wonderpark establishing an entire expansion on their outback facing side to the practice. Putting on special personae masks and constructing vast fortifications from corrugated fiberboard held together by duct-tape and gravity manipulation technology, they would embark on a variety of strange and fantastic city-sized campaigns, such the Pioneers of the Prarie, detailing a fictitious history for the Hobbgrot people where they once lived in the harsh and unforgiving prarie, wheel and wagon as they attempted to eke out an existence even while dealing wif scary beasties, big bully jerkbotz, and the most dangerous threat of all: drought.

These campaigns would last a year, two at most, before being replaced with another scenario, such as a campaign of Lurp in which the city was modelled to resemble of world of steam and clocks trapped in the middle of a historic election in which over a dozen political parties attempted to earn themselves the Presidency of Steamtopia.

Each of these factors would catalyze together on the same day. For as all these were being done, Stizlak would personally invest in developing better MojoTek: alongside some admittedly scatterbrained mysteks, a series of orkoidal mushrooms would be created, designed to produce mind altering effects and act as a mood enhancer, a species that would grow alongside Hobbgrot communities to help support Shroomboyz take root, shamans of sort who were tasked with acting as the voice of the spirits and peace both. And the last piece of the puzzle: an attempt to create a pillar to the mojos, a religious construct developed by Shrine-Keepers and the Shroomboyz to incorporate all the most advanced Shrine-Tek to interface with the Hobbgrotic Field and strengthen the spirits of Mojo.

It would be activated using a specific ritual…

((((()))))

“Alright. An’ your sure this is gonna work?” Stizlak asked, trying to psych themselves up: below, they heard Battlezone. They needed a place where the Mojo was strongest for this, apparently. The ritual chamber was small, smokey: the result of the Shroomboyz holy incense, erected in the heart of an eco-chamber.

Scratching his beard, a big bushy thing comprised of hair grafts, a frequent aesthetic choice by the order of shamans, the shroomboy, Jedd Flumbergump, slowly blinked his eyes, both slowly moving to focus on Stizlak. “Huh? What was that?” They asked as they stuffed the sacred bong.

“I said, are you sure this is gonna work?” Stizlak repeated, to which the Shroomboy gave a slow nod.

“Yeah dude, I think this is gonna work,” The shaman said, languidly enunciating each word. “Oh zog, I’m seein’ some absolute shit here,” They said, awed as they slowly turned their head, tracking some unknown, invisible thing. "It's so purpllllllllll," They said, dragging on the L as they gazed in wonder at a blue lava lamp.

The Shroomboyz, the most advanced, wise, and spiritually enlightened Hobbgrots in the entire directorate were gathered in a circle around the first Mojo Shrine, each of the orkoids taking puffs from the sacred bongs, each carved from lumium glass, containing blessed waters from holy teklian springs, and powdered mojo-shroomz. In the center, the machine hummed: it was big. Bigger than any of the Hobbgrots there: on the outside, a multitude of bloks, assorted colors assembled into a singular solid monolith, atop it various items. Totems: actual ones, in the classical meaning of the word, effigies meant to encapsulate various pieces of Hobbgrot culture and items that Stizlak considered personally important: his diploma, his personal phaser pistol, the last photograph he had of Kyte, among others.

Currently, outside, a number of Grots were performing offerings to the shrine: using herdbeasts, squogs, themselves, purified cursite, both in the Eco-Dome and across the structure. It was flowing across battlezone, to the TekPyramid the shrine was ensconced in. The sheer amount of energy put Stizlaks teeth on edge, and every instinct the grot had told him to start running: he was, thankfully, very good at ignoring his instincts.

Taking a deep breath, Stizlak took the bong from Jedd alongside the lighter, igniting it order to set the mojo-powder a-smoulder and placing his lips to the glass apparatuses top, breathing in, filling his lungs with mind altering chemicals the moment his neurochoir activated.

Exhaling a slowly expanding cloud of smoke, he doubled over, coughing as he felt a horrible dryness crawl its way up his throat even as he struggled to breath, the peculiar taste of the smoke filling his mouth. Eventually covering the room in a thick fog, Stizlak would blink for a moment, attempting to clear his visions of the spots caused by temporary asphyxiation.

“I don’t think I feel anyfing,” He said.

“Are you sure about that my brother in zog?” Replied his bong.

“Pretty sure,” Stizlak commented, blinking. “Wait, fink the colors are starting to get a little blurry.”

“Alright, take your time, ain’t like any of us are gonna die of old age,” the bong noted, causing Jedd to blink as they stared at the apparatus in a dazed sort of shock, the hobbgrot mystek raising their hand and pointing slowly as no doubt some earth-shocking revelation was occurring to them.

“Dude, your bong is-”

“No no, I want ‘im to figure it out on his own,” The bong commented.

“Figure out what?” Stizlak commented, confused, scratching his chin. “Y’know, I am feelin’ a bit light-headed. That normal?”

“You might need to take another toke. Usually it takes me a couple to achieve cosmic transcendence,” Jedd noted, to which his bong nodded.

“Dat doesn’t sound too unreasonable. You should take ‘is advice,” The bong noted, and Stizlak gave a grunt of agreement, lifting the implement to their lips and taking an additional inhale. It was only a moment later, as they were doubled over in a fit, that Stizlak realized something.

Bongs didn’t talk. “‘An th’ train arrives at the station,” The bong commented. “Buckle up, Stizlak, you’re goin’ for a ride!” They said as a trapdoor opened under Stizlak, dropping him into darkness, the Hobbgrot screaming as he fell.

(((())))

Stizlak fell down a slide into a vast chasm of darkness, grunting as the thing twisted and shifted, nearly losing his lunch when it dig a zogging loop-de-loop. All around him, a strange song echoed, one he didn’t recognize that was haunting as it was absurd (what the zog a spider-pig was, ‘e didn’t know), as the hobbgrot desperately scrabbled and clunged and shifted to avoid slipping out of the slowly steepening slide.

Eventually, at some point, it became so steep that Stizlak was less sliding and more falling: below him a dozen lights in the darkness emerged, strange purple beacons scattered here and there that illuminated far below Stizlak a giant orange brain, the veins on it pumping, the structure pulsating. “‘Ey Bruv, you ‘avin a nice fall?” His bong said, floating past him.

“What th’ zog is going on?!” Stizlak screamed, waving his arms. “Where am I?”

“I told you, Stizzyboy: you’re on a trip! You wanna talk t’ the mojos yeah? First we got some fings to hash out first! First stop, your mind! We’re gonna take a stroll through your egg salad!” The Bong exclaimed as the brain grew closer and closer. With a scream of terror, Stizlak prepared to become a pancake, only to oof as he landed on something with far less force than he thought.

Blinking, he looked around him, noting that he seemed to be standing on some sort of grassy field. “Dis isn’t my brain,” He noted, heartbeat slowing. “Not enough meaty bits,” He commented.

“You sure about that Bruv?” The bong said, voice muffled from the dirt on it. Stizlak hesitantly walked over, picking it up and idly cleaning it. “Because I’m pretty sure dis is your brain: you’re just seein’ it from the inside.”

Stizlak squinted, looking all around, noting that he didn’t really recognize the area. “Alright. I’ll play ball. We’re in my mind. Where? Dis don’t look like no place in Directorate space I can remember.”

“Ah, not in Directorate space. We ‘ad to go back for dis: all the way to the beginning, th’ day that you began th’ journey to being Stizlak,” The thing said, and Stizlak felt a cool ball of iron in his throat. The beginning.

“Monstro,” He said, finally recognizing the location: it was a place near where he lived, so long ago, a field he would escape to in the scant little freetime he had been allotted, hunting down bugs to eat.

It was also not far from where the Endeavor had crashed. An event that had changed his life forever: when captain Kyte had chosen to show mercy to a poor, gormless little ankle-biter, showing Stizlak the first genuine kindness the grot had ever received. “Wait,” He said, something registering among the maudlin thoughts: this was the day he met Kyte.

“I can zoggin get to see Kyte again!” He exclaimed, face breaking out into a huge grin as he began to run.

“Whoa whoa! That isn’t what I-” The bong said, only to be interrupted by the furious jiggling caused by Stizlaks sprint. “Oh zog me I think I’m gonna be sick,” The paraphernalia complained as it was shook up. “Would you slow down an-”

“No time!” Stizlak cried as ‘e lept over a log as the foliage increased in density around him: mushrooms and trees both. “I ‘aven’t gotten to see Kyte in over a zoggin’ century, I’m not missin’ out on the chance t’ see her again!” He exclaimed, speed-limboing past a thorny branch: it wasn’t far. If his memory was correct, the Endeavor should be…right…in…this…clearing…

Stizlak stood there, puzzled. “Where the zog is the endeavor?” He complained.

“It hasn’t landed yet, bruv,” The bong said, exasperatedly. “I said the beginning of the events that made you you,” They commented. “Not the beginning of events that YOU think made you you: as much as you don’t like finkin’ about it, your life didn’t start on the day you met Kyte. Before you were Stizlak the Hobbgrot Grandpap, you were Stizlak, grot slave.”

The iron ball in Stizlak’s stomach grew several sizes. “No. No, whatever this is, we ain’t doin’ it. I refuse,” He argued, holding the bong up to look it in where he hoped its equivalent of eyes were. “I put those memories behind me, an’ I ain’t digging them back up,” He scowled.

“Bruv, you think it works like that?” The bong replied, and to Stizlaks horror the scenery began to shift, change, alter. “Dis might be your egg salad, but the sauce is all us,” It chuckled as Stizlak began to run again, chucking the paraphernalia away. “You can chuck me but you can’t chuck the mojos!” It yelled as it sailed through the air.

“Like zog I can’t!” Stizlak yelled as the scenery around them changed, going from the mostly empty forest to something different: a maze, a warren of walls and tunnels held intact by wooden struts that were far more unstructural than the Grot preferred. “No no no no, this isn’t real, this isn’t real,” He muttered as passed a junction emerging into a painfully familiar sight, the memory of which hurt.

This was the first place he remembered having a memory of. The cave he had been born in, burrowing through the thick, stonelike dermis of Monstro: green glowing bugs crawled on the ceiling: squigbugz, the only source of light in the grot caves. All around, various funguses dotted the ground: a few grots were pickin’ at em, putin em into baskets. Others were jus’ putterin’ around until the next fight.

In the middle of it, there was a young Stizlak age one year old. “I remember dis,” they muttered, watching as the scrawny git sniffed his way through the mushrooms, carefully pickin’ out a specific shade of red. “Zog I was a scrawny git,” He said, noting how young, freshfaced, and green his younger self used to look, a pang of pain going through his heart as he watched ‘is past version snarl at another git that got too close.

“You ‘ad figured out back den dat th’ red ones made da boyz up top happiest,” A voice rumbled, deep, bassy, and smooth, and Stizlak turned his head to see a vending machine. “You didn’t know why it did,” The vending machine said. “But if you brought back an entire basket, it meant they’d let you sleep somewhere else, usually: dat way, when th’ squigz came, you didn’t ‘av to worry about being eaten in your sleep.”

“Who th’ zog are you?” Stizlak queried, confused. He didn’t think he knew any talking vending machines.

“I’m Mojo Gogo,” The Vending Machine said, its buttons blinking. “Da Spirit o’ the Hobbgrots.”

“Why th’ zog do you look like a vending machine?” Stizlak asked, causing the Vending machine to give a slow sigh.

“I look like dis because of you,” The Vending machine said with annoyance. “You gotta crummy relationship with faith, boy: you see the divine as machine you press a button on t’ get magic after insertin’ lifeforce. If I look like a vendin’ machine it’s because that’s how your cognition thinks of us,” it accused, and Stizlak frowned. ‘E didn’t think of em like that, did he?

It occurred to him that most of the time they were only invoked at battlezone, and mostly only because it was a required process t’ make more anklebiters. “Alright, fair enough,” He admitted. “So, what’s the purpose here?”

“You gotta debt, Stizlak,” The mojo said. “An’ before we can be gettin’ through all dis, we’re gonna need t’ pay it, less it get inherited.”

“A debt? To ‘oo?” Stizlak said, incredulous, eyes occasionally flicking to his younger self, watching the grot squeal in delight as they found a beetle, popping it into their mouth and eating it. Ah, good times. Why’d he stop eating bugs again?

“To yourself. To the cosmos. You got karma, boy: it needs to be cleansed, or it’ll be eatin’ on the mojo for all time,” The vending machine counselled. “Now ‘ush, we ain’t here t’ jibber jabber. We’re here to talk about Stizlak.”

“Whats t’ talk about,” Stizlak said, flatly, scowling as something about the scene in front of him set his ears flat, sendin’ a cold chill up his spine: it took his brain a moment to realize what was happening: a group of grotts were approaching his younger self. “I ‘ad a crummy childhood: this isn’t exactly news,” He said bitterly watching as his younger self, enjoying the taste of a bug, was ambushed, the grot letting out a shriek as they were knocked to the ground by a klub swinging at their cheek sending them to the ground, the grot attempting to simultaneously twist and jump away from the blow and in the process doing neither and only succeeding in falling to the ground, leaving them open to the next attack: being pelted with rocks fired from a slingshot created using some elastic squig guts and bones, launched at speeds capable of breaking human bones, his younger self squealing as the one with the club took the basket Stizlak had been working with, giving the downed Stizlak a kick before scurrying off to the third of their number, an older and meaner grot that he no longer really remembered the name of.

“Dat’s a lie an’ you know it. You remember this time and place clearly,” Mojo Gogo said, and as Stizlak watched the group of bullyboyz beat his past self, he grit his teeth, tamping down on his rising anger. “You must accept that: accept how these memories made you who you are.” The scene shifted. It was Gorktown: the place erected directly atop the grot warrens. A collection of huts, shanties, and the gamblin’ halls. Smallest city on the leftern lobe, the phrase came to mind unbidden: some snatch of half remembered discussion about the place, the only thing he remembered. “Oh come on, we juz covered dis,” Gogo said, irritated, and Stizlaks eyes widened as he saw the boyz going around, most having a bored or irritated look on their face as they performed transit: here and there grotts would dart around or under them, followers of specific orks, couriers or pets tasked with going out, or gitz just looking to get where they had to go. The orks didn’t care: if they accidentally kicked, trampled, or stomped a grot, ‘oo gives a zog?

“So what, are you gonna show me another time I got krumped? Maybe one of the many, many times I got stepped on?” Stizlak asked, irritated as he found himself having to avoid feet again: thankfully, ‘e was a lot quicker now.

“Nah,” Gogo said. “The goal ‘ere ain’t failure. You just need to have…whats th’ word,” They muttered. “Its the one about coming t’ a great psychological insight.”

“An epiphany?” Stizlak provided, yelping as he failed to avoid the wheels of a wagon, the machine bearing down on him…and passing through him, something that Stizlak felt great relief. Alright, VR rules then.

“Yeah, dat,” Gogo agreed amicably, before turning and firing a can down an alley, the aluminum cylinder flying too fast for him to make out any details besides its blue paint job. “Now, if you’re gonna ‘ave an epilepsy, yer gonna need to go dis way.”

Stizlak grumbled but complied, walking to the alley, one of the many that crisscrossed gork-town: like most, it was a triangular aperture, the result of either building on its side leaning, making it small enough only grotts could really use em: Stizlak was bigger than most grots, so he had to hunch a fair bit to fit. As he entered, he spotted in front of him a grot. For a moment, he almost thought it was himself: they even had their own basket of red caps.

“It was at dis time that you learned why the boyz liked the red caps: they were special. Good for havin’ a zoggin’ good time,” The vending machine noted, and in front of the gormless grot, he could ‘ear whisperin’, just barely soft enough to hear. “Just one or two, and you get to spend the day in a ‘appy stupor. Mix wif a bit of beer for a rollikin’ rampage, add a bit to some jo’juice if you wanted t’get crazee, turn it into a powder and you get somefin doks can use t’ keep their patients gigglin’ through surgery.”

Oh. Oh no. “I don’t wanna see this,” Stizlak said, heartbeat growing rapid and erratic, pupils dilating as he turned and tried to run, and yet no matter how fast he ran he couldn’t seem to move, until his attempts at running in place resulted in him tripping, the hobbgrots arms flailing wildly as he fell into nothing, slipping over dust as he attempted to right himself: and yet, no matter how he tried to move his legs, it was like they wouldn’t, couldn’t connect to solid ground.

“Sorry bruv, I don’t like it either, but you gotta be right wif’ yourself: currently, you’re still lettin’ these memories drag you down, you’ve just convinced yourself the chains are invisible,” Gogo said sympathetically. “You gotta Mojo Letgo if you wanna Mojo Gogo, Bruv: an’ unfortunately, dat’s gonna require visitin’ some fings you don’t wanna remember.”

A foot stuck out from behind some splintered and wrecked wood caused by the building on one side buckling from its own weight, tripping the unfortunate grot. Two thieves stepped out: a git with a club whose name he couldn’t remember and himself.

“Again wif da lying,” Gogo accused, sounding genuinely angry now. “You know his name. You might not be proud of what you did wif’ him, but the git was still your mate!” It rebuked, and he watched as the other grot took his basket even while Stizlak brandished a stikka: a little kitchen tool he had managed to find and sharpen. “You ain’t no better than him, so don’t act like it.”

“I…” Stizlak said, wanting to argue as he watched his younger version threatened the downed yoof. “I ain’t like that no more!” He protested. “Yeah, I mighta been a git back then, but that was before I met Kyte!”

“Yeah? What if you didn’t? What if it had been ‘im instead?” The vending machine countered. “Face it: you’re better, yeah, but that’s because you lucked out an’ got the opportunity t’ learn how to be better. If th’ wheel o’ fate had turned a bit to the left, it could have been him instead of you standing where you are.” With an oof, Stizlak landed back on the ground as he watched young Stizlak rifle through the grots pockets, stealing the handful of teeth within, showing them off to his compatriot, who made an appreciative chuckle. “Th’ fact you’re so deep into repression’ yer memories yer tryin’ to forget th’ name of your FRIEND is exactly why we’re ‘ere, bruv.”

The shifting scape altered itself once more, becoming a very familiar hidey hole: a small hollow he had found in one of the alleys: the door was shut. Outside, a thunderous noise could be heard as the building shook: asteroid shower.

The hollow was small enough that Stizlak found himself taking up most of it, watching as his younger self and his ally sat together, drinking fungus beer poured from a large bucket they had managed to scrape enough together to afford, singing a song as they goofed off.

Something in Stizlak hurt. “Still don’t remember ‘is name?”

“...Alright,” Stizlak admitted. “You’re right. Larkin. ‘Is name is- wuz Larkin,” He amended, grimly realizing that the way things were for grots outside the Directorate, there was no way ‘is old mate would still be kicking. “An…an’ I don’t think I’m better than him, or at least I don’t like t’ think I do,” He said, voice subdued as he closed his eyes, allowing an exhale. “But I don’t like thinkin’ about then. It hurts,” He confessed. “An…an’ its not a physical pain, exactly,” he continued, his breathing becoming unsteady as he felt a strange terror fill his body, ears folding against his ears. “It’s a mental one I guess: I look back on what on what happened t’ me, who I was an’ who I was forced to be, an’ it feels like I’m a cup what’s filled up too much, an’ it gets t’ feeling like I’m gonna crack and come apart, especially when I think of th’ people I remember: the people I ‘urt, the people that hurt me, the mates I’ll never see again,” He slowly.

“What yer talkin’ about are wounds of the mind, boy: they won’t leave you until you start healin’ em,” The mojo cautioned as everything else fell away. “Da problem is, sometimes healing ‘urts. Minin’t like a body wound where it’ll eventually patch itself up: you leave those wounds buried, they’ll just grow an’ grow an’ grow, feedin’ on all the guilt, anger, frustration, an’ hatred you still got pinned to em: you gotta dig em up, put em under the sunlight of thought for em to start mending.”

“So, what, yer epiphany is that I need therapy?” Stizlak grimaced.

“Therapy, self ‘elp books, becomin’ a mediocre fanfiction author, people exorcise their demons all sorts a’ ways: first step though is acknowledgin’ em and decidin’ your gonna krump em, after that it’s basically all uphill. Er, metaphorically at least,” The vending machine said amicably, before turning an’ yellin’ at the darkness. “ALRIGHT, I FINK THIS QUALIFIES AS A EPILEPSY! DID I PASS MUSTA OR DO YOU NEED ME T’ GO DEEPER?”

“Epiphan-” Stizlak froze as a ring of lights flickered on revealing that he was standing in what looked very eerily like a dentists office. Jerking, he felt something constrict his limbs, and he realized that he was currently strapped down to the chair. “What the zog?” He yelled, thrashing.

Above each wall, peering down at him were several figures. Seven in total, he thought.

“YOUR KARMA IS STILL DARK. YOU HAVE YET MORE BATTLES BEFORE YOUR SHADOW IS CLEANSED,” One of them said, resembling a giant squog, stretched out over a stone, a bunch of stuff growing out of the resting amphibians back. “BUT THE HURDLE OF MEMORY IS DECOUPLED: THE EDDIES OF TIME HAVE SHOW ME, MOJO BUFO, THAT YOU WILL HEAL.”

“And if you don’t,” Said another figure said, resembling a gigantic clockwork brain, “We can do this as many times as we have to.”

“Why?” Stizlak complained. “Why the zog is my mental well-adjustment any zoggin’ concern to you?” He asked accusatorily.

“AUDACITY!” The Amphibean croaked, letting out a spray of rainbow bubbles. “YOU PRESUME TO ASK ME, MOJO BUFO, TO AWNSER YOUR QUESTIONS?”

“I presume SOMEONE to answer my questions!” Stizlak snarled, eye twitchin. “You put me through rememberin’ part of th’ worst years of my life, monkey in my mind, play in my egg salad? Your zoggin’ right I presume ONE of you gitz or at least someone you know can explain it!”

“...Fair dinkum,” Mojo Bufo agreed amicably. “Mojo Menza?” He asked, causing the mechanical brain to clear their throat.

“Right, so, t’ begin with, what exactly do you know about antianima?” They asked, chipperly, causing Stizlak to blink.

“I don’t understand the question. Antianima is, like, nightmare demons, yeh? Ones made from the bad thoughts of gods n’ junk, right?” Stizlak asked, confused. “What the zog does that ‘ave t’ do with th’ price of tofu?”

“More or less correct!” Menza agreed. “Now, th’ thing is, the Directorate ‘as a lot of dark magic runnin’ around, all of it shaped by belief an’ ritual an’ powered by stuff that’s a little bit more this side of reality than most bad mojo and helpin’ to make sure that even gods what are totally unrelated t’ the whole concept of antianima. ‘Eck, even things that shouldn’t even ‘AVE antianima,” They commented with fascination. “Only prerekwizit seems t’ be bein’ worshipped in Directorate.”

“Wait.” Stizlak said, twigging on. “Are you implyin’ ya’ll got antianima problems?” He asked, confused, as the ground under them rumbled. One of the mojos leaned forward: resembling a simple painted mask made from carved wood, it glowered at him as Stizlak saw cracks form in the ground.

“No,” They said, voice raspy and cold. “We will have antianima eventually, but there exists someone who preceded us, one who occupies a far more central pillar in the reverence in our people. It is their antianima we are concerned about.”

The floor fell out from beneath Stizlak, making him tumble into a dirt pit. Standing up, he shook himself off, grunting as he looked around to realize he seemed to be trapped in some sort of dark corridor, one he recognized as bein’ from his favorite spooky cave sim. “Gettin’ really tired of this,” He groused, starting to walk. “So,” He said, speaking to thin air. “You do got an antianima you’re concerned with: we talkin’ Gork? Mork? Some kinda absurdly convenient precursor?” He asked until he reached a large room, one shadowed in darkness: his eyes could barely see in front of him, but it appeared to be…battlezone?

“Wrong,” Came a voice, and suspended in the air a platform lurked, on it a microphone stand and, talking into it, a floating balloon, painted to resemble a clowns face stuck in a grumpy clown face, its body likewise comprised of more inflated rubber vessels twisted to look sorta humanish. “Greetings ladies and gentlemen,” The clown balloon said flatly. “I am Mojo Hobo, the Mojo of hating the irrational, here to talk to you about something that ISN’T how absurd the concept of magic is at the behest of my bosses Mojo Yoyo and Mojo Bozo.”  In the stands, miles and miles away, more lights came on, revealing the mask mojo, staring at him darkly, next to another clown Mojo, this one resembling a giant human in a white polkadotted klownsuit, white painted face contorted into a look of absolute destroying wrath, their blue smile set in a hard scowl of anger, the green flowers painted around their eyes blazing in the center as they cast a fiery, klowny gaze. “Just dropping my name. Y’know, in case you wanna write it down. Be reaaaaaaal nice to get some offerings.”

“Oi, get on wif it!” Stizlak yelled. “Show me ‘oo I’m supposed to be fighting!”

“Hey, nobody said anything about you fighting,” Hobo said indignantly. “Why the zog is fighting your first assumption? This is a dream quest, there are literally an entire imaginations worth of things this next trial might require-”

“I don’t ‘ave all zoggin’ day!” Stizlak argued, causing Hobo to let out a sigh of defeat.

“Fine, I admit it: you’re here to fight,” The balloon mojo groused. “For your next trial, you’re going to have to fight…” A drumroll began playing as circus-y music began playing in the background. “Yourself!” A spotlight lit up, revealing a git that looked like Stizlaks doppleganger. Bigger, meaner, greener, mouth curved into a frown, eyes a milky white.

Stizlak narrowed his eyes. “What,” He said. “What the zog is this? What the zog are you?”

“I’m you, you !@#$,” His alternate growled, voice several octaves deeper than Stizlaks too, and Stizlak was apprehensive about that voice: it was too much like his, but…wrong. Distorted, like listening to a recording. “I’m all the bits you keep under a lid,” They said, baring their teeth as their scowl deepened. “I’m th’ anger. Th’ ‘atred. Guilt. An’ most of all, I’m your fear.” The figure began walking towards them, cracking their knuckles as they drug their clawed feet through the dirt, the spotlight following them.

“I ain’t afraid of anything,” Stizlak argued, taking a step back as he looked around for a weapon to beat this…what, shadow-git? “An’ I especially ain’t afraid of me own shadow. Bring it, you piece of-”

His throat seized as the shadowgrot gave a snort, now in front of him and holding him in the air by the neck. “C’mon Stizzyboy. Didn’t Kyte teach you you shouldn’t lie?” It said, acrid breath wafting in front of Stizlaks nose. “You got plenty t’ fear. You’ve ‘ad em ever since you stepped on the Endeavor.”

“The zog…you going on about…” Stizlak wheezed, before raising his foot and slamming in in the apparitions stomach, causing it to drop him as the force knocked it backward, leaving Stizlak to fall to the ground, taking a calming breath. Giving a roll of his neck, he quickly got into a fighting stance. Alright, he’d ‘ave to do this wif ‘is hands then. “Y’know, I mighta believed you if you ‘adn’t tried to use the Endeavor.” He asked, snarling. “But you can go !@#$ yourself if you think me meetin’ Kyte of all things is why I ‘av fears or whatever: if it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t !@#$ing be hear.”

The shadowgrot let out a laugh as it stood back up, a dry and empty chuckle that had no humor or joy behind it. “Ex-zoggin-zactly,” They said, grinning. “You see, that day, ‘eck, the MOMENT you decided t’ ask those weird screw gits, before any zoggin rituals or anything zoggin else, you set yourself apart from th’ average ork. You gained opportunities, a future, family an’ friends,” It continued, slowly, giving a hateful giggle. “But with every light there’s a shadow: for every candy there must come bitter vegetables, and for every sweet dream there is a nightmare in its wake. You gave yourself things to set yourself apart from other orks, other grots, but you didn’t just give yourself the good: you gave yourself plenty of bad.”

“Yeah? Like wh-” Stizlak lunged forward, cutting himself off as he surprised his doppleganger by hitting them in the jaw, causing their head to twist, opening them up for an uppercut, followed by a vicious flurry of blows…

One of which was intercepted, Stizlaks fist grabbed mid-punch by the shadow, who growled. “Well now, since you’re such a curious git, let’s count ‘em off,” Shadow Stizlak hissed. “First you gave yourself knowledge: knowledge enough t’ know an’ understand how wrong your treatment an’ behavior once had been. Knowledge enough to feel guilt and resentment over it.” It said, flicking Stizlaks hand away, punching them in the gut, sending the hobbgot flying back and slamming into something hard enough to drive the air from his guts: for a moment, his eyes went hazy, a bright light in front of him as his vision shifted and twisted into a corridor of metal, vertical, that he was gazing up into, one that resembled a maintenance shaft almost, overlaying his vision of a shadowy battlezone, before flipping back to un-normalcy, the shadow grot standing over him, lifting him by the scruff of his shirt.

“An’ with knowledge, you get uncertainty. Konflict. Because at th’ end of the day, you’re hurt, an’ wanna assign blame, but who can you? Can’t blame th’ grots, because they worked for the orks. Can’t blame the orks, because they never had the chance to learn t’ be better,” Said the doppleganger before slamming their fist into Stizlaks gut, over and over again, driving the wind from em. “‘eck, the average ork lifespan is barely longer than a grots, they don’t LIVE long enough to be better, an’ those that do are the biggest, meanest, which just contributes t’ the problem, a cycle of th’ bullies using their size t’ put themselves in charge. An’ as much as you wanna blame Gork an’ Mork, fact of the matter is you don’t know if they started the cycle or are just the name the first bullyboyz slapped on it in th’ same way the Mojo was your attempt to name your weapon t’ break it,” They said, before tossing Stizlak to the side, causing him to hit some unknown barrier with enough force that it gave slightly denting, with Stizlak a moment later feeling a strange sort of weightlessness, his vision flickering for a moment, overlayered with a version of the metal corridor in transit, as if Stizlak was falling through it before the effect was ended by Stizlak hitting something head-first, causing his vision to go blurry.

Quickly, the dazed Hobbgrot tried to stand up, vision blurry, but a green shape approaching. With a roar, he tried to rush them down. “Would you shut the zog u-”

He was swatted away. “But most of all,” His larger version said, and to Stizlaks horror he saw the snarling, unhappy monster growing larger and larger. “You gave yourself the biggest weakness of all. Your nephews, the rest o’ the Directorate, they take all this for granted: they live in a bubble of peace, so they don’t even know they ‘ave this. Other Orks, other Grotts, ‘eck, even the Bullyboyz Gmork themselves haven’t ever really had anything like it. But you, you’ve lived outside the Directorate. You know how bad life can get, an’ because of that, you know what it is.”

“Wha-”

“Something to LOSE, Stizlak. ‘Orks neva lose’” The phantom said mockingly, placing his foot over Stizlaks chest. “Dat’s because they don’t ‘ave anything to lose. Noffin’ important: it’s all fer a larf!” The creature said, chuckling again in that way that made Stizlaks skin crawl. “Dat’s why da boyz ain’t ever afraid. So what if they die? They never really had anything to live for beyond having a good scrap. You though Stizlak, you chose to be SPECIAL.”

It stomped again, its foot going through Stizlaks chest, shattering it and revealing a hollow. “Let me show you in detail what you’re gonna lose,” The phantom hissed, reaching into his chest and pulling something out. A snowglobe, showing his first holiday with Kyte: Stizlaks eyes widened as the item showing the scene with clarity. Lantern Day. A festival, ‘is first festival: in the snowglobe, he was excitedly attempting to get his lantern, an illshaped thing of paper and candlecraft that ‘e could barely get to float in the air, Kyte helping him. “First, you got your people. Here today, gone tomorrow, at constant risk of bein’ destroyed by forces you ‘av no way of stopping, chief among them TIME.” It shook the snowglobe, and with each shake, Kyte grew older, fur greyer, until…

“Stop…I don’t-I don’t wanna see this,” Stizlak said as he relived the worst moment of his life: learning that eventually, all those he cared about would go. His doppleganger grunted before crushing the snowglobe, spilling its contents across the floor, unsatisfied.

“I don’t care about what you want. The universe does not care about what you want,” It snarled, pulling out a picture, one of those 3D printed ones that ‘ad to be developed in a special red room. Waving it in front of Stizlak’s face, it let his eyes wander over the scene for a moment: it was a family photo. Him and all several million of his nephews, an’ even his non-Hobb family, those ‘e inherited from Kyte, all standing and grinning. “Then you got your family, an’ its future. You can’t be everywhere, Stizzyboy, and you can’t do everything. ‘Ow you gonna keep em safe once the Destroyers come back? What if Gmork comes stompin’ down and you aren’t ready?” He waggled the photograph, shifting it to a field of corpses, two titanic green figures in the background.

Stizlak snapped, punching the thing and snarling, causing its head to rear backwards from the force as its eyes widened in surprise. “ZOG OFF!” The Hobbgrot screamed. “Yeah all that scares me! Of course it zoggin’ scares me!” He said, grabbing the giant green gits fist mid-strike and twisting, sending the shadow sailing through the air before slamming into the ground with an oof. “Happy now?” He yelled as he leaped on the creature, screaming as he balled his fists together and began whaling. “I’m scared o’ people dyin! I’m scared of the future! I’m even scared of th’ fact I’m zoggin’ scared!” He screamed as his knuckles hurt, feeling something crunch and give way under the force of his blows. “An’ yeah, I probably do keep it under a lid! I admit it! This what you wanted you zoggin’ darkscrew !@#$!” He roared as he grabbed the things head and began slamming it against the ground…

Causing it to transform into stone and break apart, an’ Stizlak blinked as, for a moment, he noted that the thing almost looked like the statue of him outside Battlezone. “Well, it’s not what he wanted to hear, but I’m very happy to hear it,” Mojo Hobo said, causing Stizlak, huffing from exertion and pain, to glance up at the balloon-klown mojo, turning to look at the two greater mojos staring on. “Okay, is that good? How does it look? I passed, right?”

Mojo Bozo would reach out with one titanic hand, the greater klown-mojos face still sculpted into a look of eternal divine fury and wrath and childrens parties, but their all destroying hand instead of visiting apocalyptic divine circus wrath instead would curl its thumb upward while folding the rest of its fingers inward, in a primal show of celestial approval.

“Oh thank zog,” Hobo said in relief, before turning back to Stizlak. “Okay, the bosses say I passed, which means you pass. We have about five minutes before we move on, so if you have any questions please mention them.”

“WHAT THE ZOG WAS THAT? WHAT THE ZOG IS GOING ON?” Stizlak yelled, fed up.

“I kinda meant about me in case you found anybody who wanted to make an offering, but fine,” Hobo said, sighing. “That was YOUR antianima. Or, y’know, a piece of it. We’re not sure how to destroy the bigger version,” They admitted.

“Th’ bigger version?!” Stizlak said, alarmed. “An-Wait, MY antianima? ‘Ow th’ zog do I have an antianima? I’m not a god!”

“Nope, but for most of the time they existed, you were the closest thing the Hobbgrots had,” Hobo admitted, the balloon klown tugging a rope and appearing right next to Stizlak, who jumped in alarm. “An’ unfortunately, if we don’t do anyfing about it, it’s gonna be a problem,” They said, accent slipping a a bit. “When the waaaagh you had got factory reset by the screws, it put it back to its most basic version. You decided t’ turn it into the Mojo: fing was, you’re the source, th’ origin for it: all we are is emanations of you that you gave names and outlets for. Menza is th’ creative sciencey git that represents all th’ engineering an teknik you learned ‘ow t’ do. Yoyo is th’ Screwy stuff you learned, all th’ magic y’don’t like but know is necessary t’ keep everything functional. So forth.”

“AND THY DARKNESS, IF LEFT UNADDRESSED, WILL ALSO EMANATE,” Came a voice as more lights in the stands lit up. “AND THESE EMANATIONS CREATED BY THY MIRROR DARKLY SHALL IN TURN JOIN THE MOJO AND FEED UPON IT AND DARKNESS ALIKE, BECOMING A CURSE UPON THY HOUSE! SO SAYS MOJO BUFO!” Bufo croaked, giving a wave of its front leg.

“...Okay. I’m willin’ to accept that, I guess,” Stizlak sighed. “Okay, I’ve accepted my past and admitted my fears. What do I need to do now?” He asked, looking up to the greater Mojo’s now gazing upon him.

One of them, a great big giant that resembled a hobbgrot in a hat an’ khaki outfit sitting on some sorta reptile greeble that looked right nasty. “Well that’s the question now, innit? Mojo Irwin, fella what represents yer love for right beaut’s like the shiela I’m ridin’, ‘appy t’ be here,” The Hobbgrot said giving a toothy grin. “See, we’ve definitely weakened th’ thingy, but there’s always th’ risk it’ll come back: all it takes is a little negative character development an’ then WHOOP, we’re back ‘ere again fer round two!” They explained. “Now, we fink one more solid push should give us th’ room to work something more permanent, but, well, at th’ end of the day all we are is bits of your mind you turned t’ gods: we still need you sort out yer noggin before we can put things t’ rights, mate.”

“So I ken stop here an’ let this be a problem for future me OR I can do another ‘owever many trials t’ ‘elp solve the problem permanently,” Stizlak said, before taking a deep breath. “Well, ain’t nobody every accused Stizlak Kyte of bein’ someone t’ shirk ‘is chores,” He grumbled. “Alright, hit me with the next one.”

Mojo Yoyo laughed, the mask-mojos voice echoing through the stadium. “You are brave, Stizlak, to charge into the fray with such enthusiasm! Very well! We shall perform one last trial!” In front of Stizlak, the ground parted, an abyss forming in front of the Hobbgrot, and in its center, a narrow set of rickety wooden stairs. “Descend! Confront and defeat yourself one last time!”

“Yeah yeah, you don’t ‘ave to make a production of it,” Stizlak grumbled as he walked down the chasm, going even deeper into his mind, the apparent heart of the Mojo itself. As he walked, slowly the shadows lightened, until it was replaced with an infinite sea of white: in the distance, Stizlak thought he saw some fish swimming in the air. “Weird,” He commented with a frown as the stairs eventually ended: stepping off, his feet connected with nothing, and he began to walk through that vast and unrelenting brightness, until he found himself in front of a well made from carved stone. Walking up to it, Stizlak looked down, seeing an eye gazing at him. With a huff, Stizlak jumped into the well, falling through it and passing through the eyes pupil, landing with a splash in a swamp.

“Knew that would happen,” He said after he stood up and shook his head dry. Unfortunately, the rest of him was submerged in the glunky gloop of the boggyswamp. Walking forward, Stizlak eventually saw a small island up in front of him, elevated above the swamp waters. Crawling towards it, he trundled up the sandy beach, frowning as he felt the mud drip from his clothes. ‘E liked those socks…

Grumping, the Hobbgrot Granpap walked forward, continuing up the swamp along the beach until he reached a rickety bridge of floating logs: across it a large rocky hill, a small cave mouth opened in its side. Hopping from one log to the other, Stizlak reached the lip of the cave, floating on a log next to it. “Ey, any gitz in there I need to fight?” He roared.

A pair of burning blue coals opened, and Stizlak only realized they were eyes seconds before a shape rushed out at him, slamming into the Hobbgrot at speeds they couldn’t react to, tackling them into the water and sending them both below, into a watery void illuminated by myriad willowisps. Struggling with the creature, Stizlak noted he couldn’t seem to see it. No matter what angle it moved at, no matter how its eyes moved, and no matter how close the willowisps got, it seemed to hang in shadow: all he could tell was that it seemed to, like the prior specter he had fought, resemble a version of himself, but wrong: a mirror darkly, overgrown by the shadow magic the mojo was absorbing all across the Directorate.

A strong one. Too strong: no matter how he tried to move, he could barely shift its limbs, and his own strength was beginning to lag. Furiously, he kicked it in its face, propelling him downward away from it for a moment, The Hobbgrot reaching forward and grabbing SOMETHING as they attempted to grab hold of one of their foes limbs, only to find themselves overpowered by another phantom arm reaching out and constricting them. ‘I’m not strong enough,’ He realized with horror as the creature wrapped a hand around his throat despite his attempts to wrest away. ‘Its gonna kill me because I can’t take it out!’ It was then that Stizlak realized the futility of fighting a nightmare made of everything he feared in the heart of its power while it was parasitizing his power over the Hobbgrotish psychic gestalt: he had walked into the den of a creature that was reshaping reality to his nightmares, a living horror story fed by his own darkness, and foolishly expected to prevail over the genre conventions of fear.

AND THEN, AT THAT MOMENT, LIGHT. THE SHADOW RECOILED, FLEETING FOR A MOMENT, AS IF ABJURED BY AN UNKNOWN FORCE: FOR A MOMENT STIZLAK WOULD BE STUNNED BY THE BRILLIANCE, AND FOR A MOMENT THE HOBBGROT THOUGHT HE SAW SOMETHING STRANGE: A FIGURE IN A DIVING SUIT. THE SOURCE OF THE LIGHT: AN UNKNOWN INTERLOPER IN HIS AFFAIRS THAT HE RECOGNIZED AS BEING OUT OF PLACE.

IT WAS AT THAT MOMENT THAT SOMETHING OCCURED TO STIZLAK. THIS THING HE WAS FIGHTING: IT WAS A CREATURE OF DARKNESS AND SOLITUDE. HIS DARKNESS AND SOLITUDE, THE WORST DREGS OF HIS OWN WEAKNESS GIVEN SUBSTANCE. YOU COULDN’T DEFEAT A SHADOW BY PUNCHING IT, AND YOU CAN’T DEFEAT SOLITUDE WITHOUT HELP.

HE FELT A PAIN IN HIS HEAD: AN ATTEMPT BY HIS MOJO TO RESIST WHATEVER WAS GIVING HIM THIS KNOWLEDGE, THIS STRANGE BRIGHT PRESENCE, NOT KNOWING WHETHER IT WAS FRIEND OR FOE. AND YET, SOON HE SAW IT DIM, THE LIGHT FADING, THE FIGURE DISAPPEARING.

An’ now the darkness was back, the creature returning. But this time, Stizlak was ready. Silently, he cast a prayer out to the Mojos, causing him to be enveloped in a purple glow. “Alright,” Stizlak growled. “I might not be able t’ take you out on my own you piece of !@#$, but I’m not on me own, am I? I got me family. I got me friends. An’ most of all? I GOT ME MOJO.”

First came Mojo Bufo, the vast frog-god emerging from the depths, face blotting out the sky as their glowing violet eyes illuminated the battlefield like twin-moons, revealing a desolate and rusted version of the outback, soil replaced with dry crust, the winds dead. “NONE SHALL HIDE FROM MOJO BUFO!” The shadow shrieked, recoiling as Stizlaks fist impacted it, the creature unable to hide now. It recoiled, catching his next blow: now that it had no place to hide it was weaker, yes, but its might was still considerable, and there’s nothing more creative than a cornered animal.

It raised its hand, calling from the ground scrap and wisps of shadows creating a weapon from it, a klub, and swinging it at Stizlak, the attack slamming into his teeth, the creature pulling back their arm: Mojo Menza, the entity teleporting into the airspace above the battlefield in a shower of amethyst lightning. “Oioioioi, watch and behold, lightbulbs!” The clockwork brain would likewise conjur forth scrap and parts, but would instead rapidly and precisely reconfigure the parts telekinetically, constructing a functional array of flood-lights within seconds and firing them at the entity, which shrieked as parts of it began to be burned off, the light stripping away more of their power

In response, the shadow would summon more of itself: swarms of flying things conjured from the ground that would surge through the air to attack the Mojo, forcing the mechanical one to divert more effort. Even as these beings filled the sky, attempting to attack Menza with their shadowy tooth-filled mouths, the entity would continue its assault of Stizlak, who would dodge and duck out of the way of the blows of their klub, grinning as they raised their fist and threw a phantom punch, an action that was mirrored by Mojo Bozo, who appeared behind Stizlak, his fist surging forward and impacting the shadow Stizlak, the creature shrieking as Stizlak began throwing additional phantom punches, channelling them through the furious klown destroyer god to pummel the entity, driving it back as Bozo began to advance, Bozo remaining silent and stoic even as Stizlak instead chose to hoot and holler, giggling as they dismantled their opponent.

It would grab one of the blows, attempting to intercept it only for the next to land, the thing staggering even as it grew. Releasing the roar, the creature attempted to brute force its way past the Klown God, whose motions were choreographed by Stizlak, the pair bracing themselves to try and bring the git down, the two trading blows. It was on the back foot now, however, and it hissed as a procession of Squogs led by Mojo Irwin began crawling up and biting it, the larger ones like the big belly squogs instead attempting to unbalance them by slamming into the giants leg. “Krikey!” Irwin yelled, barely steering their mount out of the way of a stomp. “This fella is right angry!”

“That’s because he’z realized he’s losing,” Stizlak cawed, using Mojo Bozo to grab the things neck: he felt a strange weight on his face, and knew Mojo Yoyo was resting on it. Giving a grin, Stizlak began dancing a grin, reaching out with his fingers and grabbing the flowing eddies of power that surrounded him, connecting him and the mojos and seizing it, shaping it in his palms before throwing, casting violet havok orbs at the thing, the brilliant light searing away at its structure, allowing Bozo to overpower it, driving the shrieking creature to the ground. Above, more spotlights came on as Menza flitted around, the nightbats having met their end via Bufo, the titanic moon-frog scooping them into his mouth and devouring them. These spotlights would burn into the shadow, burning more and more of it away, the shrieking thing shrinking and shrinking. Floating forward, Stizlak gazed at what was left.

A wriggling mass of shadow. Another piece of his antianima: the thing was unshaped, and right now, vulnerable. He grasped the mojo once more, preparing to destroy it…

That isn’t the only option.

Stizlak paused, feeling an intrusion. “‘Ooo th’ Zog are you?”

A friend. That thing represents your nightmares. Your fears. You can destroy it if you want: that will return it’s power back to your Mojo, I think. Or you could take a page from the functionaries book.

“...You think I should ‘arness it?” Stizlak said, pausing, frowning, recalling the Judgements, the various folios he had read written about the esoteric lore of the antianima of the Functionary, somehow turned into extensions of his will rather than mere emanations of his terrors.

Maybe. I’m not arguing that it’s the best idea. It’s not a binary choice: this place is your mind. This power you have is currently yours. And your shadow is in your power. I’m just trying to tell you that you have more than one option.

Stizlak’s eyes narrowed.

What does he do with his shadow?

Know that none of these are without cost.

[ ] Destroy It: It wouldn’t get rid of the concepts it represented: the fears, the flaws: those, Stizlak could only fix by improving themselves. However, destroying it would mean its power would be returned to the Mojo.

[ ] The Dark Mojo: Transform it, reshape the shadow into something else. He would make it into a Mojo, one that governed darker forces and emotions such as fear. This would avail the Hobbgrots a powerful way to harness and protect from these forces.

-[ ] Name them. Does not need to stick to the Mojo [Name] naming structure, but does require some sort of equivalent title that can be used for Dark Mojos.

[ ] Mojo Shadows: Shatter it, reforge the pieces to craft from its pieces spirits to serve the Mojos, shadowy fairies and terrible ogres meant to serve as the Mojo spirits of night. This would provide strength in numbers for the Mojos.

[ ] Write In.

((((()))))

And yet, regardless of Stizlak’s choices, on that day everything would change for the Hobbgrots.

The most immediate effect: a total hypercharging of the Mojo from both Shrines, FathaShroomz and the work of the Shroomboyz, who would commune with and channel the Mojos, causing the rate of viable Hobbgrot spores to quadruple, more and more anklebiterz crawling their way up through the soil, alongside new and bigger squogs, like the one eyed squogbird, a machina sized avian fungoid bird of prey, or the squogosaurus, a hexapedial saurian squog whose hide hosted a variety of minisquogs such as the cheezer squog, a semi-gelatinous mass of bacteria the size of a mouse that tasted extremely like dairy product that served as a common prey animal.

Further, whatever the hormonal makeup of MegaGrot serum was, it found itself successfully bridging one of the enzymatic gaps, allowing for not only larger, more healthy Squogs and Shroomz, but also for additional differentiations, regional mutations in the squogs that guided by the mojos and shroomboy druids allowed them to more easily adapt to be beneficial to various ecosystems and even planetary conditions, with those in the Hobbgrot ecosystems of Naklis instinctively growing slightly more more heat resistant in order to more easily weather heat shield failures, while those that cropped up across Erichtheo would produce more aquatic Squogs, such as the five eyed squog-fish which lived within the bottom of the ice crust living across the planet, or the magma-slug squogs, which would eat up cooled off magma slowly covering them in thick plates of minerals.

In battlezone, however, this would also produce a differentiation in grots, the enzymes allowing for their spores to diverge partway in their pre-programmed development to form another humble member of the orkoid ecosystem, a small orkoid meant to handle the absolute most basic agricultural tasks in normal orkoid culture. The snotling.

Normally, snotlings are anywheres from half a foot to one foot in height, and possessed of relatively undeveloped neurology. MegaGrot serum however seems to have overcharged their pituitary glands and metabolism, resulting in the ones at Battlezone RAPIDLY growing in size: within a few months these MegaSnots typically reach seven feet in height. Their mental faculties however develop slower, especially when outside the coverage of a SistaBrain, resulting in most being fairly simple and childish.

[ ] Name the MegaSnots.

Them and the many Anklebitaz would be taught by the many Hobbgrot Uncles, the FatherShrooms that would form at the heart of Hobbgrot communities and familial units, and the SistaBrainz that the Tekniks of these communities would construct: all across Battlezone and the Outback these communities would spread, the latter growing more and more life-filled as Hobbgrottic park successfully introduced non-squogs to the ecosystem, these beasts steadily changed by the Mojos each generation to adapt them further.

With more Hobbgrots and more Mojo came more specialists, Tekniks and Shroomboyz and Beastie Boyz, and even stranger sorts such as Hobbgrot strangeboyz, living poles for the Mojo that would crop up here and there in the Outback, their abilities erupting violently. While possessed of an instinctual ability to draw on and harness this energy, most of these strangeboyz would find themselves little ability to control it, leaving them volatile and prone to literal explosions, especially when the Mojo was at full churn.

Tekniks meanwhile would find themselves far more creative thanks to the influence of the Mojo Menza and the SistaBrainz: the former would get a frequent icon in their workshops, and the latter would be found wherever one found a Teknik, the mojotronic machines serving not only as companions and lab directors, but also powerful repositories of instinctual technological knowledge for any of her bruvvas, accelerating general Hobbgrot handiness and allowing Tekniks to simulate the orkoid genetic memory by substituting the missing information with whatever subconscious information was held within the local gestalt.

Lurp meanwhile would prove to be a rich and vast source of Archetypic Spirits to join the ranks of the Mojo, creating strange two and a half dimensional entities that appeared like strange animated caricatures of Grotts possessing the ability to draw on the mojo to warp and stretch their incredibly resilient bodies and perform mental and physical feats well in excess of what a normal Hobbgrot might be capable of so long as it was in service to their archetypic role.

The Hobbgrots of the Directorate would rejoice, for they were enjoying nothing less than the Grotpocalypse.

Academy Points (ACD Points): 113

Living Metal: 3

Network: 3

Brain of Menza: Mojo of Tekniks, Mojo Menza. The Weaponmakers of the Directorate wanted to build a workshop dedicated to them: an expansion of GrotTek in kollaboration with the Hunteks with a giant SistaBrain meant to help Tekniks develop kustom mojotronic weapons an’ tek an’ come up with complex AI assisted battlestrategies. 0/25, Huntsmasters workshop gains Brain of Menza, a gigantic SistaBrain that increases FTH. Tekniks can graduate into Hektiks.

MotherTennae: Alright, so far so swell. If the Hobbgrots were ever gonna get anywhere though, they would need better organizational capacity. Right now th’ educashunal system consisted of lettin’ a anklebita that popped up wander into someone older: there needed t’ be a way to get them to that point once they popped out of the ground, an’ so it had been proposed iterating on the SistaBrain technology to create MotherTennae, mojotronic AI that could use the mojo to broadcast to all Anklebitaz an’ help educate em. 0/50, gain MotherTennae, which help educate and nurture Hobbgrot Anklebitaz and MegaSnots, increasing ACD by 3 and NT by 3. Cost 1 ART.

MegaGrot Mutagen: Alright! Some of the damaged caused by the factory reset had been undone, producing a variation of snotlings. While producing actual orks was beyond unlikely, it wasn’t unlikely that by incorporating various mutagens and bio-enhancers into MegaGrot Serum that more enzymatic bridges could be repaired. 0/25, gain MegaGrot Mutagen, producing additional biological orkoid anomalies, increasing CUL. Cost 1 BioData.

Grampus Colonoids: Stizlak couldn’t be everywhere. He might be the Grandpap of every Hobbgrot, but he personally could not meet with and be the Grandpap of every last Hobbgrot. What he could do, however, is use the FatherShrooms and his own brain-scans as a basis to create Grampus Colonoids, large fungus clusters with a truely distributed consciousness capable of acting as the grandfather for entire planets. 0/50, gain Grampus Colonoids, planetary spanning Hobbgrot grandfathers that increase CUL by 3 and Warp. Cost 3 BioData.

Titan Beast Formulae of Mojo Irwin: Mojo Irwin apparently liked when beasties were nice and able to defend themselves. So he wanted to work with Yr Albain: Hobbgrotic Park would in tandem with them develop a formula they could use to accelerate the development of the many great beasts of their world into their mature form. 0/25, Yr Albain and the Directorate gain Titan Beast Formulae, increasing CUL.

Construct UncleKommanda Class:  It would take a massive amount of rare technology, but Stizlak wanted to create a sort of Mojotronic Broadcast ship containing its own miniature Battlezone and Fleet Battlebot League as well as a suite of Mojo Shrines, one capable of acting as a sort of mobile regional amplifier to help give a boost to Hobbgrots on the frontier. 0/35, gain Broadcaster Class, a T2 Hobbgrot Vessel that increases the primary stats of each major outpost in a region by 1 while also acting as an antipiracy vessel. Cost 1 ART.

Paleotech Reproduction: The Cabal and Nova Mechanica both were interested in learning how to simplify the reproduction of Paleotech. If they could streamline the more involved processes and learn how to reproduce more advanced examples, it could potentially allow more Paleotech to enter distribution. 0/25, gain improved Paleotech Reproduction, increasing EXP and ART.

Vault of Scrolls: The Testament in conjunction with the Unionists wanted to erect a great palace of knowledge, a vast vault where scholars, poets, and philosophers of the Directorate could store their wisdom, equipped with a fleet of priest-curators to help manage, maintain, and aid others in using it. 0/25, Testament gains Vault of Scrolls, an academic institution consisting of a massive humanities library, increasing CUL and ACD.

((((()))))

AN: And that’s a wrap! You have successfully invested enough to reach the next breakpoint in Stizlaks storyline, and in the process unlocked two new ships along with a BOATLOAD of other things. Anyhoo, throughout the next week, tuesday to thursday, the next set of goodies will unlock: Temple to Seasons, Fairy Song, and Offering to the Toymaker. On top of that, this friday I will be opening the Christmas Auction, which is going to be special: not only will I be taking the top three bids like my birthday auction, each bid is allowed a max of three projects.

That’s right, three. You still have to price match your most expensive project, but you can also pick two more projects of equal or lesser value to go with it as well. This special auction will end on Christmas day.

Also, here’s a fun fact: had you continued investing in non-FTH Hobbgrot projects you could have would up locking yourself out of shrines and shroomz, forcing you to utilize non-FTH means to upgrade the Mojo from thenforth.