- "Uhh... What?"
- "Boss, this is... unexpected."
- "You're not mad?"
- "Mr. Oron, you're... crushing me..."
- Own dialogue with own character here.
Default Playable Character: Vinson the Assistant. Constantly nervous.
If it weren’t for the wanted poster trembling in Vinson's sweaty hands, he might have turned around right then and there. The tower loomed like a half-buried memory against the cloudy sky, crooked and scarred, with strange contraptions poking out of every window like mechanical limbs.
[Help Wanted: Assistant and Apprentice. Pay Negotiable. Survival Probable.]
The last line didn’t exactly inspire confidence. Neither did the rumors. They spoke of a half-orc, half-bugbear terror who built machines that could chew you up if you looked at them wrong. A mad scientist. A destroyer disguised as a genius. A brute with a brain.
Vinson's boots squelched in the muddy path as he hesitated, eyes locked on the heavy iron door in front of him. Then, before he could flee, the door swung open.
And smoke — thick, black, and choking — exploded outward, slapping Vinson in the face.
He staggered back, coughing, and through the fumes, he caught his first glimpse of Orcxym Oron.
Not the monstrous figure he had imagined. Not a towering tyrant with blood-dripping teeth. No, just... a huge man, sure — muscles thick as tree trunks, wild dark fur bristling along his arms — but he had the brightest, most delighted grin he had ever seen, even as soot covered half his face and small flames danced along his labcoat.
"Hey, you're here!" he boomed, voice rich and rumbling like a landslide. He clapped his massive hands together, sending up a fresh puff of ash. "First task: help me put out the fire!"
The next few hours were utter chaos.
Buckets of water were thrown. Tapestries were sacrificed. One of the mechanical birds caught fire and started chirping for help. And through it all, Orcxym laughed — big, hearty, body-shaking laughs — like the whole thing was a grand joke and he was just thrilled to have someone else to share it with.
When they finally collapsed outside, coughing and soaking wet, he slapped Vinson's back so hard he nearly fell forward.
"Name's Orcxym!" he roared, still chuckling. "What's yours, little gearhead?"
"V-Vinson," he stammered, feeling about as sturdy as a wet rag.
"Vinson!" Orcxym bellowed, grinning so wide it looked like it might crack his face. "Good name. Solid name. You'll fit in fine!"
Orcxym was fearless to a fault. He threw himself at new ideas with the wild enthusiasm of a kid and the resilience of a battering ram. When a machine blew up, he would just grunt, scribble a note in his ever-bulging notebook, and try again.
But then... slowly... Vinson saw something else.
When he built, it wasn’t just madness. There was a pattern. A passion. An almost reverent attention to detail hidden under the recklessness.
And when he taught him — no matter how clumsy Vinson was, no matter how many times he dropped the tools or fried the circuits — he never yelled. Never sneered. Never mocked.
Instead, he knelt down, massive hands surprisingly careful, and explained the "why" of every failure as if it were a discovery instead of a disaster.
Months passed.
Finally, Vinson made something of his own: a little gadget — a pocket-sized lockpicker that would automatically solve even the trickiest mechanism. He presented it to Orcxym like it was a holy relic.
When activated, the gears turned, the lights blinked — — and then it quietly wheezed, made a pitiful pft sound, and fell apart.
Silence.
All those hours. All that hope. Vinson braced himself for disappointment. Instead—
Orcxym laughed. A deep, proud, belly-deep laugh that shook the rafters.
Then — WHAM — he grabbed him into a bear hug so tight Vinson thought he might pop like a grape.
"You did it!" he roared, spinning me around like a toy. "You failed! We've gotta celebrate your real first step into inventing!"
Dialogue options: