kassofchaos

[kassofchaos]

D&D Dragon Redesigns, because Why Not

Okay, I'm gonna get to the chase here. The dragons in D&D 5th Edition are, for the most part, so visually scuffed. Don't get me wrong: art quality? Bonkers. I wish I could shit art of that level out, and hey everyone in the WotC art department is great. Design-wise, though, they all feel a little too same-ish to me, so I want to at least try and shoot up some redesign attempts.

So, here's the ideation stage for the black and white dragons.

Rough sketches of the dragon's anatomy, with more detailed head busts. Surprisingly, I didn't change the base anatomy (4 legs, 2 wings) on these, rest assured this won't remain consistent.

For the white dragons, I based them off of mainly polar bears, and imagine them as the most built and largest dragon. This does also give off yeti vibes, which I'm a fan of. Shoutouts to my friend who has no social media for suggesting ice horns, which I then made into little icicles on there.

The black dragon here is based mainly on crocodiles, with additional elements from catfish and the spinosaurus thrown in for good measure. Their wings are pretty ineffective for flight, as I don't expect a stealthy swamp-dweller to spend much time aloft, but now essentially work as a pair of arms for the dragon, making them far more dexterous.

I am planning on working through the other 3 chromatic dragons in a similar ideation process before doing a complete piece for any of them, so stay tuned for that!

[kassofchaos]

Hearthstone - Tamsin

In a discussion I had with fellow friends (and a few """"friends"""") in a Hearthstone server on discord I frequent, we discussed Hearthstone's current storyline and characters. It became clear to me that I see something in these characters that other's don't seem to. With this small fic, I hope I'm able to bring to light what I see in one of these characters.

Stormwind City had finally begun to crack and crumble beneath her. From a crooked watchtower deep within the city’s palace walls, the undead warlock couldn’t hide her wicked grin, legions of demons unraveling from rifts beneath her. Swarms of imps herald the coming of the larger dreadlords and anhillians, their mere stature shattering wall and pillar of the castle alike. Anatheron, the dreadlord responsible for her newfound power, the deal they struck, leads the charge against the unprepared forces of Stormwind.

It had been all too easy. Gaining the trust of Rokara and her crew came first, the orc and her companions too desperate for aid to refuse. After gaining their favor as a friend - Tamsin inwardly retches at the term - convincing the rabble of imbeciles into accompanying her to Stormwind City was a breeze, especially after they were all riding the high of victory after defeating Lady Anacondra.

Thanks to their propensity for seeking trouble, they were perfect unwitting distractions. While the dimwitted tauren kept the petty guards busy with talk of squirrels and love, and while the orc somehow got herself tangled with the nearby pirate operations, she was weaving her work into Stormwind itself.

The time to reminisce on a job well done is over.

The power she was promised, the raw might of the demon seed now coursing through her form, there remains but one thing to do: burn Stormwind to the ground.

Tamsin leaps down from the watchtower peak, landing down with ease on her feet and immediately calling a squadron of imps and felbeasts to her side. From a corridor, she can hear them: paladins and guards of the order scrambling for solutions. All it takes is a flick of her wrist and a point in the corridor’s direction for her amassed minions to leap forward, driven by their master’s orders. By the time Tamsin arrives down the corridor, where the paladins had been caught unawares, only a few stood amidst the bodies of her demonic lackeys.

All disposable, worthless lives to a warlock such as herself. The first remaining survivor, a brunette brandishing a broadsword and weakened from the scuffle, is blasted with a raging screech of fel energy, a bolt of ghastly force piercing through her armor and through her chest.

The second paladin, another woman clad in-

“.....Tamsin…?”

The warlock turns her head in an instant towards the familiar voice. From the corridor behind her, a dark-skinned, white-beared man broad in build and clad in golden armor only the best of the holy order could champion. Buckler shield on one hand, hammer in the other.

Tamsin’s gaze fixates on the man, finishing the other paladin in the room with another fel blast without so much as looking at her. Her focus and burning ire all land on him: Cornelius Roame.

“...You did this to me…” The warlock points to him with a single, outstretched, twitching and decrepit hand. Her head cocks to one side, her general posture jerking along with it. “...Took from me… sent me to die…” Her voice runs coarse with the decrepit stench of undeath, the rough and crackling sounds of something kept in the plane of life by malicious forces.

“Tamsin… we thought you dead, I-” Her father now awash with conflicting emotion, tosses his hammer and buckler aside to the ground. Tears well up, bubbling from the usually stoic face of a paladin. “I thought you dead, we searched the ruins for days…”

“...You didn’t look close…” Tamsin retorts with an audible sting of hatred in her voice. Her body jerks violently into a straight posture, her trembling hands preparing an orb of screeching fel between her palms. “If you cared… if you cared…”

“Tamsin! We do! Cariel and I, your family!” With no weapon to his disposal, repulsed with the thought of attacking his daughter and rocked to his very core by the sight of her before him, he stretches his arms wide. If this is retribution, twisted punishment for losing his daughter, then let him try and plead for peace and forgiveness. “You don’t have to do this, we can stop this all now! I don’t know what horrors rule your thoughts now, what undeath has done to you, but you are my daughter, Tamsin!”

A silence fills the room. Tamsin’s eyes meet her father’s, and Cornelius’s eyes meet his daughter’s.

“...Family…?” The undead’s voice cracks, breaking silence.

Wordlessly, Tamsin’s body jerks in mimicry of her father’s movement, trembling steps bringing her close to the paladin. Her cold skin meets the embrace of a sobbing man - a man whose guilt has caught up to him. This was acceptance….

Blinded by hope, Cornelius doesn’t see Tamsin’s twisted grin as she approaches.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours have passed, the sun now setting deep into a ruined skyline. The city of Stormwind has not fully fallen, the forces of this city have put up a fight, but they will soon fall.

Tamsin shambles out from the desecrated castle, only ruins and death behind her. Imps and felbeasts follow her out, dead set on accomplishing their master’s next command with brutal efficiency. Beside the warlock stands a new beast: the undead remains of Cornelius Roame, stitched together with the skin, limbs and wings of several demons and fellow fallen paladins. An abominable husk, its mind broken into animalistic service not unlike the common imp.

Her father, the man responsible for her agony, is gone and dealt with, given a fate worse than death.

Her father…? No. This is a beast, a piece of fodder to be ordered. This thing is a tool, a weapon Tamsin will use to exact her revenge on the ones responsible for her anguish. Stormwind will burn, its people will grovel before her, and with due time all of Azeroth will tremble, all beheld to an undead insanity, the wrath of Tamsin Roame.

[kassofchaos]

me with my funny little fictional men

[kassofchaos]

A Call to Arms

I'm back into writing fanfic shit! Bad news for those people waiting for the batman/ben 10 stuff, this is a Yu-Gi-Oh fic.

Decades. Mahad had spent decades of his life lost in study, sleepless nights spent in pursuit of arcane perfection. Nothing drives the great wizard forward quite like the rush of a new discovery, a new barrier broken, a new secret unveiled… all for his eyes and his eyes only. Each step forward, no matter how much time and pain it took, still strikes him with a high like none other.

With highs, there are lows. Like an addict without fix, sometimes the only thing keeping Mahad going is the spells he’s cast on himself: failsafes should his limited mortal cage wear fatigued. Still, his ambition persists, the arcane will be his.

With time comes wisdom, and with wisdom comes realization. Some Mahad accepts from the moment they apparate, bright ideas from a genius mind made manifest. Others gnaw at him like pests, too stubborn to admit them as truth. As time crawls on, there is no option but to accept them.

Never had a realization appeared to him quite like this.

His private realm, Yami, the dimension of pure arcane dark he’s hidden himself away for eternity, has been intruded upon.

Nose deep in an arcane tome, Mahad catches onto a stray sound. Billowing, a breeze. The wind.

What starts as a gust develops into the swirling and swatting of terrible winds. Pages and tomes fly about his dull and dimly-lit quarters as a tornado bursts into the center of it all. Mahad braces himself, anchoring his feet onto the ground as much as his body can and placing his arms in front of his face. The wind threatens to toss him out of balance and into the wall with a force that would shatter tombstones.

It halts. The winds disperse as rapidly as they had emerged, leaving a towering figure in their wake. Adorned in armor of golds and greens, a darker-green cape and a helmet - avian in design - adds to the overwhelming presence that now finds himself within Mahad’s library.

Before the magus can fully muster his wits and comprehend the intrusion, the newcomer speaks, and his voice is thunder: “Mahad, the Dark Magician. I am Raiza, and you are to come with me.”

“Raiza…” Mahad grumbles. In a flash of violet energies, Mahad finds his armored robes upon him and his scepter in hand. He points it to Raiza, eyes staring at him with all the rage of a cornered cave-beast. “How did you get here… I sealed this realm from all entry, a filthy Monarch like you is not welcome.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to.” Raiza asserts in return, his tone snapping back like the lash of a hurricane. “We need you, Mahad. Come with me.”

“The Monarchs need me!?” He scoffs, the very notion bringing him to reek. “If Ehther thinks she can send one of her lackeys, then let her show up and drag me from here. I don’t need her sending her lap dogs.”

“LAP DOG!?” Raiza growls in turn, a tone like rolling thunder at the peak of bursting into a storm. “I’m not here to argue with you about her greatness, let alone be belittled by an arcane shut-in!” He takes a step forward, the stomp of his armor sending ripples through Mahad’s realm. “I wouldn’t be here if we didn’t NEED you!” “Ehther can kiss my ass for all I care, all you cretins can!” “Can you put the past away for a second and just LISTEN!?”

“Try telling that to my people, to my gods! Where was Ehther then, huh!? Killing my-”

“EHTHER WAS KILLED!” Like the crack of thunder, the storm had been built up, and Raiza’s final decree had set it off. What ensues is a silence from both ends: the eye of the storm brings quiet.

Then, the call to action. “Ehther, Thestalos, Mobius… the Monarchs are dead. Granmarg and I are the only ones left.”

“Something killed them… and you need my help to stop it.”

“...I didn’t know you could read minds.”

“I can’t.” “You wouldn’t need to read my mind to realize, then, that whatever killed them can kill you too. Slay the arcane you’ve slaved your life away for.”

Mahad sighs, looking to his now trashed library of work. “I never expected I’d be preached to by anyone, let alone a fucking Monarch… What's worse is that you’re right.”

Raiza chuckles, crossing his arms as the subtle sounds of breeze ring about the lair. “Easier than I thought: thank god you can listen to reason. We’ll need more people like us, even still.”

“...What the hell did you see, Raiza…?”

“I saw chaos, Mahad, and it stared back.”

Chaos.

Fuck.

[kassofchaos]

[kassofchaos]

It’s their date night

[kassofchaos]

thank you stellaluna

everyone show your respects to stelluna this month you hear me

[kassofchaos]

man I really should get back to posting huh

to my like 5 dear fans who're here for the kassverse fanfics, I have a few ideas I have to get to writing, college starting back up sorta gets all my energy if yknow what I mean

In the meantime I might be uploading some short stories I wrote months back; all funny scifi stories.

[kassofchaos]

Getting the Facts Straight

So, after what seems to have been a super long hiatus, I'm back with another chapter of the fic! Hope the wait wasn't unbearable, ya'll.

The Batcave. Perhaps it’s a childish name for a 31-year old billionaire to adopt for his alter-ego’s base of operations and armory, but there’s no denying it sounds cool. To the younger, more impressionable guest, the moniker certainly succeeds in its wow factor, not to mention the awe of finding himself there.

Batman doesn’t have many guests down here. It’s usually just him and Alfred, maybe the occasional criminal; but never someone like Ben. “Why do you have a dinosaur up here?” Speak of the devil.

Batman turns to face his guest, looking to see the green-vested lad standing next to one of the giant cave’s many attractions: a life-size model of a Tyrannosaur. Granted, a very old depiction.

“I came across it during an old mission. Decided to keep it.” He responds. Easy, succinct.

“It isn’t even accurate, how old is this thing?”

“I don’t know. These things don’t come with information plaques.”

A silence wafts over them both. Even for just that second, the silence is palpable.

“Man, hate that.” Ben responds. “I get that it’s just more work, but I can’t ever see something like this as finished without a plaque like that, y’know?”

Another pause, this one slightly longer than the last. Batman sighs; so this is the kind of person he’s let in. Could be worse.

“We can mess around with my decorations later. Tell me about the watch.”

“What, this old thing? Had it since I was ten.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“By now? Eeehh, twelve, maybe thirteen years? I got it late into my tenth, so I can’t know for certain. I don’t just have the exact date on me, right-”

“Explain what it does.” Batman’s order cuts through Ben’s rant before it could even begin. Ben gulps; he’s really dealing with THE BATMAN here.

“Well…” He lets out a half-hearted chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Where do you want me to start?”

“You know where I want you to start.”

Ben takes a step back, looking away for just a second, shrinking at even the slightest hint of intimidation.

“Well… this-” He puts up his left arm, letting the light of the Batcave fall upon the device attached to his wrist, its green-and-black dial gleaming with the bright. “-is the Omnitrix. I don’t know everything about it myself, either, but I know how to use it, and I’ve been able to clue together some information on it after so long.”

Batman listens on, a notepad in his hands, ready to jot down anything important.

“From what I’ve gathered, this is alien technology. Within it are the samples of ten different alien species. I can choose which one I want to transform into by-” To demonstrate, he taps a small button on the device’s side facing him, watching the dial rise just slightly, projecting a holographic black silhouette of a four-armed humanoid. Ben grabs onto the dial’s side and turns it left, watching as the silhouette is replaced with another, this one of a shorter creature resembling a crab. “-turning the dial. When I press it down, then.. I suspect you can guess from there.”

“Only ten?” Batman asks amidst note-taking.

“Ten.” Ben nods. “An arsenal that compliments itself well. I don’t know if it’s a coincidence or not, but the choice of aliens on the watch feels planned, for lack of a better word. Intelligently designed, in a sense.”

“Lead me through each one.”

“I don’t know that I want to .” Ben finally interjects. “Sorry if that’s rude, sir, but… I’m not just going to tell you all of my strengths and weaknesses.”

Batman smiles. “There it is.” Batman waves Ben forward, leading him further. Down a set of stairs, to face a ginormous onslaught of computer monitors of varying sizes, all heralding a lengthy desk and a couple of simple revolving chairs. “I think I know why you’re here.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

Batman nods, turning to type up on the keyboard, facing the smallest monitor screen just above said keyboard as if it were a simple laptop or home computer. After a few clicks, a picture comes up on one of the largest monitors; the scowling visage of a bitter, scarred, and somewhat wrinkled face, adorned with wide red goggles and cybernetics around the sides of his face.

“You’ve come here for him.”

Ben looks up at the display, not needing any more than a second to recognize that face. He nods. “Dr. Aloysius James. Insists on the name ‘Dr. Animo’. Sounds tacky.”

“This coming from ‘Ben Ten’.” “This coming from ‘The Batman’?”

A pause wafts over the room, broken only by the sounds of keyboard keys being pressed rapidly.

“Fair point.” Batman turns Ben’s attention out to another screen. Several dates from the last three months all laid out uniform on the monitor. “There are the days Dr. Animo has been seen publicly for the last three months. Anywhere from Bellwood to DC, even all the way down in Texas or Kansas. Most recently, he’s converged here.”

Ben nods. “That’s part of why I’m here. I heard Animo was coming by to visit. He and I have something to settle.” Ben narrows his eyes, taking a look at each date. September 7th, September 17th, October 7th, and so on. The consistency drags on. “All dates ending on a 7.”

“The question is… why.”

“Why? Dr. Animo’s often like this… kinda weird around numbers.” “This isn’t just Dr. Animo, Ben.” Batman reassures him, and another monitor lights up with even more dates. September 3rd, September 9th, September 15th, on and on.

“These ones are divisible by three.” Ben confirms.

Batman nods. “These are all dates pertaining to an enemy of mine, Bane. Once again, from various cities all over the United States. I’m positive these have a connection, and I have a name to go off of, but…” That’s when the caped crusader hears the slam of a button and a flash of green light envelops Ben. He turns around quickly to make sense of the commotion, only to behold an entirely new figure having taken Ben’s place: an orange, crab-like thing easily standing above three feet tall, and with a massive head to take up most of that height.

The creature waves one of his pincers, using its other to point to the belt it was wearing right underneath its head; the dial of ben’s omnitrix on full display at the front of the iron strap. “Worry not.” He speaks in a slightly deeper, trilling voice with the hint of a british stiff-upper-lip. “I thought I’d swap over to another more… intellectually gifted form.”

“What do you call this one?” Batman asks rhetorically, not expecting the crab to answer with “Brainstorm, actually”. Upon hearing that, he lets out a sigh and returns his focus to the information at hand.

Before he can get another word in, Brainstorm interrupts.

“Mayhaps it is worth noting every date of Dr. Animo’s appearance ends with a 7, with the exception of any days where it is the 27th. Divisible by three, just like every appearance attributed to your ‘Bane’ figure.”

“Right.” Batman nods, then looks to all of Bane’s dates for a similar pattern. September 6th, missing entirely. September 12th, the very same. “Not a single even number on this list. Divisible by 2.”

“A hint to another cohort in this scheme?” Brainstorm adds. “Or perhaps we’ve fallen into a purposely set rabbithole? This could all be an elaborate ruse; a red herring, if you will.”

“Even if it is-” Batman quickly asserts, “-I can’t ignore the fact that it might not be. If this is intentional, we’re step further into finding the reason behind all this.

“Does that reason mayhaps include that thing that attacked us on the street?” Brainstorm’s thoughts flicker back to just a few hours ago, having been assaulted by that large, somewhat mechanical purple beast. An alien? Mayhaps.

“I don’t know. He seemed more intent on your watch than anything else… still, we can’t strike the idea.”

“Today is the 16th of December. If the pattern holds true-” Brainstorm adds, “-and if Dr. Animo truly is in Gotham, we will see him tomorrow. We best be prepared for such.” Brainstorm gives the dial on his belt a firm press, and with the same flash of green light, Ben returns to normal.

“If you want me to rest here, I will. I don’t mind sleeping on couches. Point is, we should be prepared.”

“Indeed. We should.”

[kassofchaos]

this post broke into my house and shat on my furniture, oh seymour

i need therapy now

Caramelldansen turns 20 this year and frankly I am not prepared for that.

[kassofchaos]

I think we should use words like 'goon' as an actual name for a career.

I really want to call lawyers lackeys, ya'll.

[kassofchaos]

it's not just little cats either, cheetahs purr and it is marvelous

I find it just marvelous that cats make little cat noises. exquisite design choice on nature's part, I highly approve

[kassofchaos]

deadass surprised my little fic im writing for fun is already getting attention! no matter how little that is, the fact that what i'm writing is making even one person happy is a nice feeling.

[kassofchaos]

Gotham Never Bores

A continuation to my previous piece, Welcome to Gotham. Ben Tennyson finds himself in even more trouble as the monstrous Ridley comes for him and Batman.

“You could have handled that a lot better, you know?” The dark streets of Gotham stretch out before Ben as he whizzes past them, the car he’s made passenger to taking sharp turns on a dime. Wearing a seatbelt only goes so far in making one feel safe, and when in the face of a driver as fast and reckless as this…

He wasn’t expecting the Batman to drive like this.

The skidding and screeching of the wheels and roaring of the black mobile’s motors fill the air of what would otherwise be a very lengthy, awkward silence. The more Ben attempts to strike up any sort of conversation, the more it seems him and his impromptu chauffeur fall further apart.

“You didn’t have to frighten me like that. You could have approached calmly, told me what you wanted-”

“Doesn’t matter.” Batman’s sharp, yet brief retort jabs at Tennyson.

“Doesn’t matter!?” He repeats, a shocked tone about his words.

“Doesn’t matter. Your approach or mine, I have the result I want.”

“What even IS that result, genius!?” Ben works through his brain quickly, finding not a clue as to what the caped crusader even wants from him. “You haven’t told me anything about whatever you have plann-”

The batmobile screeches to an abrupt, sudden halt right in the middle of one of the many Gotham streets, and Batman quickly slaps his open palm over Ben’s mouth to shut him up. Before the boy can break the silence, Batman does so with a hushed tone. “Not a sound. Something’s here.”

Silence.

The wind blows faintly around them. The mobile’s motor emits a light hum. Several lights around them flicker on and off with light zaps of power. Nothing but the sounds of midnight Gotham.

The sudden roaring of the mobile as it races forward at the fastest pace it can manage breaks that silence. It swerves into a wider street with a sudden turn, advancing forward amongst tall buildings. Ben looks around in confusion, the sudden shift and aggressive movement sending him into high alert. His hand already over the dial of his omnitrix, he feels the urge to press it down upon seeing an immense shadow cast down near his window.

Then the shadow slams down on the front of their vehicle, pressing it down into the asphalt with enough force to stop it in its tracks, the recoil nearly slamming its passengers forward were it not for their seatbelts.

“What the hell..” Batman mutters under his breath as he processes the sight in front of him. “An alien!” Ben immediately yells, only for a large metal arm, tipped with four clawed fingers, to burst through the front window, grabbing onto his chest and causing a pained yelp as its claws pierce into his sides. Ben braces for impact, shielding his face as the arm rips him from his seat and out of the vehicle with the same force in which it broke in. The gleam of the metal arm guides Ben’s eyes. Up towards the gigantic metal wing, a membrane of glowing yellow plasma illuminates its surface. Then down towards its purple body, its other arm and wing, organic. Sharp claws, talons pressing down and breaking into the metal of the vehicle beneath them.

A long, purple snout lined with sharp fangs and a metallic lower jaw, curved into a wicked smile.

Glowing yellow eyes.

“A pleasure to meet you…” It hisses out, a dry sadistic cackle following its introduction.

Followed by a screech of pain as the alien falls victim to a barrage of knives digging into its back. Turning to look behind himself, the monster’s eyes narrow upon the Batman, brandishing several other throwing knives.

Now’s his chance! Ben slams down the dial of his omnitrix!

Flash! Blinding green light envelops the young boy, leaving behind the glimmer of a sturdy, crystalline body.

The monster’s attention split between two opponents, it loosens its grip from the transformed Ben, spreading its wings and leaping backward with the momentum. A better position to keep track of them both.

“You’re in trouble now, big ugly!” Ben, now Diamondhead, cracks his knuckles and gives chase, slamming down against the monster’s stomach with his crystalline fist, the blistering pain of the impact driving nothing but a slight grunt from the cyborg as its towering body barely budges. Still, it retorts with its mechanical claw, grabbing firmly onto Diamondhead’s face and slamming him into the cold hard asphalt with a crash.

Keeping the petrosapien pinned down with one foot pressing down on Ben’s chest, the assailant turns its attention to Batman, now dashing straight for him. It charges straight for the caped crusader, jaws open wide with an ear-splitting screech as its wings carry it straight towards Batman.

With a hefty grunt, Batman rolls under the charging beast, quickly sitting himself up and retrieving a few more throwing knives from his belt. With a swing, the sharp blades cut through the air, burying themselves into the alien’s back.

“Ben! Make a run for it!” Batman barks an order whilst Diamondhead stands himself up. Whatever this… thing is, it’s far beyond his game.

“Got it!” He nods in acknowledgement, still running forward to meet the charging beast head-on. As the two approach, Diamondhead leaps forward, his gem fists reforming into solid, massive mallets which slam into the monster’s head with the force to make it crash against the cold street below.

With a semblance of time bought for the duo, they make a break for it. With Batman taking the lead, they both weave their way into the alleyways of Gotham, the soon returning sounds of flapping wings and screeching reminding them that the beast has given chase.

“Duck!” Batman yells, the sound of sizzling energy from behind him alerting him to another danger. Catching ear of the noise as well, Diamondhead stops in his tracks and turns backward to behold the beast charging towards them in the small alleyway, mouth glowing with crackling yellow energy.

“Not today!” Diamondhead slams his forearms together in preparation. Immediately after, his forearms receive the brunt of a focused barrage of fireball after fireball. Heat and flashing force meets the brunt of crystalline arms deflecting their impact.

Those same arms are met with the impact of the beast’s body charging straight into Diamondhead. The petrosapien retorts, fist meeting the beast’s jaw with the clanging of hard gemstone on metal and rough skin. Knocked into the wall of the cramped space, another hammering blow knocks the beast back, buying Batman and Diamondhead enough time to continue their escape.

“Here!” Batman yells, suddenly throwing himself into a small opening at the alleyway’s end. Diamondhead quickly slams the dial on his belt, shifting back into his human form in order to dive through the small nook as well.

“Did we lose it?” Ben murmurs, standing up and taking a look around… a narrow underground hallway lined with faint blue lights.

“Certainly.” Batman picks himself up, dusting off the dirt on his suit before wordlessly continuing forward down the path.

“Am I supposed to follow… do you even know where you’re-”

“You talk too much.”

Ben takes a pause, then a sigh as he follows behind the caped crusader.

“Whatever that was, we’re getting to the bottom of it.” Batman continues, not even dignifying Ben by looking back at him, eyes forward and pace never slowing.

“Now you’re speaking my language!” Despite the cold shoulder he’s been given, Ben finds himself reassured. Psyched, even. It’s a good thing knowing Gotham won’t get boring.

[kassofchaos]

So, I caved and made the first of presumably many drawings for my developing fanfic universe. Batman has shown up in both short stories I've written so far, so I thought it fair to do him first.

Might do Ben next, idk.

[kassofchaos]

Welcome to Gotham

When youngster hero Ben Tennyson finds himself in Gotham city, all seems to be going well. Gotham is soon to leave its impression.

"This is it, huh?" The young man mutters to himself, shielding himself from the slight cold of a dark Gotham night with a particular green jacket. A few years ago, he might have been taken aback by the sprawling height of the gothic architecture or the utter dirt and sprawl of the streets and alleyways, but a few years ago he hadn't yet travelled all across the US with his close friends in celebration of graduating college. Compared to New York, Gotham seems no different, save for the more depressing atmosphere and streets clear of most activity in the dead of midnight. Ben had expected things to look... more crooked; Gotham's reputation doesn't do it any favors.

This, though? The small uptown streets, faint warm glow of inviting neon signs, and glimmer of gothic windows? Ben could get used to this.

Unfortunately, he's in no position to "get used to this". The ringtone of his phone - a stereotypical 80's alien tune - anchors him straight back to the mission at hand. He reaches for his right pants pocket, the green metal of his strange watch providing a soft glow as always, and immediately picks up upon noticing who's giving him a ring.

"Y'ello? Kev?"

"I've arrived, yeah. Not as shitty-looking as I'd expect, remind me to take you and Gwen out here someti-" The youngster's eyes catch onto an ever-so-recognizable sign just as he walks on past it, stopping in his tracks to give it and the small establishment it belongs to a once-over. "-Yo is that a Mr. Smoothy's!? All the way out here, you've gotta be yanking my chain!" Ben rejoices amidst a few chuckles. Through the phone, Kevin's annoyed tone drags him back to the conversation at hand. Ben takes mental note of the establishment before continuing down the street.

"Yeah, yeah, I've got it, okay? Not a soul for miles out here, I can find it and call back before you know it, alright? Tell Gwen I said hi, see ya later." Waiting for Kevin to wish him luck, Ben hangs up and pockets his phone just as he passes yet another alleyway nestled between the crack of two skyscrapers.

It's not long afterwards Ben starts to hear activity rouse up around him; a pair of footsteps behind him, probably someone else walked out of a building and is on their merry way home. The sound grows, soon he's able to pick up on three separate pairs of footsteps besides his own. Things are getting tense, he can feel it. Just before hitting the next street to cross, another alleyway comes into view. Ben sighs in relief, suddenly taking a left turn straight into the narrow space. If those steps behind him are just passers by, they can continue on their merry way and save Ben the stress. If they aren't... at least they're out of the more public eye.

Of course, much to Ben's dismay, all three head straight after him. He turns around to get a good look at three large, scrappy figures blocking the alleyway's exit. By the looks of it, these aren't just regular thugs or crooks. One of them carries a spiked bat, the second dons a rusty pair of knives on his sides, and the largest of the three is nonchalantly waving a rather sizeable firearm about like a prized bouquet of flowers.

"What's with the matching outfits, boys?" Ben breaks the tense silence with a snark, eyeing the thugs up and down a few times. They're all wearing the very same rough jacket - a green and red number with several white stripes to serve as accents. "Did we just come back from a football game?"

"You know you gots some fuckin' NERVE keepin' your little bravado up like this, punk." The one carrying the bat steps forward, whacking his bat against one of the alleyway walls a few times as a sort of warning. "Either you're new here, or you've been gettin' pretty fuckin' lucky."

Ben sighs. This song and dance again. "Right, so you guys want either my money, my life, my phone, my watch, or all four. Name your price." He leans against the dead end of the alleyway, yawning.

The bat-wielding maniac seems to take this a little too personally, running straight up to Ben and pinning his neck to the wall behind him with the handle of his bat. To make things worse, the impact of the thug's knee against Ben's stomach knocks the wind from Ben's lungs and sending his breaths into a disarray.

"Listen here, asshole! You see a Mad Gang crook, and you fuckin' KNEEL to them! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

The tension of heavy silence returns for a few seconds, but it drags on for much longer in Ben's mind. He feels the bat pulled away, allowing him to get a good breath once again. He struggles to stay on his feet, clutching his stomach with both hands as his breathing stabilizes. The crooked fuck continues, a wicked grin upon his face.

"So you understand now, hm? You give us your wallet, your phone, and that dinky watch of yours, and I won't fuckin' bash your head in." Ben feels his chin lifted by the blunt end of the bat, lifted to lock eyes with the twisted fuck and his shit-eating grin.

"You know... I was considering letting you off easy.." Ben responds after another pause, looking up at the thug with an angry glare. Without so much as another word then, he suddenly slams his left hand over the face of his watch, causing it to envelop his body in a bright green flash.

The thug shields his eyes, taking a step back as regret starts to mount itself upon him. By the time his eyes have opened, he feels his throat grabbed onto by a larger, four-fingered hand. It presses tightly, enough to cause an immense struggle for air. The crook drops his bat, hands moving up to wedge themselves in-between the new assailant's hand and his throat, not finding even an inch of purchase.

His eyes can only behold the sight in front of him. Where once the usual everyday Ben stood, now stands a larger, red-skinned monster. Where his eyes stare forward onto a scowling, fanged snarl, his four eyes stare back. A red humanoid dressed in a black jumpsuit from the waist down, the face of Ben's watch in front of its makeshift belt. Most imposing of all is his muscle; built more than Superman, with an additional pair of arms to boot.

Ben, now Four Arms, speaks up, his fanged maw uttering his words in a low guttural growl.

"This-" A sharp jab to the thug's stomach draws out a pained scream of anguish from the now frightened man, all the air from his lungs knocked straight out by the sheer impact. "-is for my throat."

Right as the crooked man was considering saying his prayers, he feels himself tossed aside by the monster as it steps forward towards his little entourage of guards, cracking all four of his fists. "I don't want this getting bloody, boys. You know what to do."

The other two take the hint, backing away slowly before making a complete break for it, the bat-wielding thug soon following suit. Four Arms sighs, shaking his head. Of course, he can't go a single day without-

"You."

A voice behind the alien grabs his attention, and he turns in preparation only to behold the shadowed silhouette he had only heard of through rumor and hushed tone. The large cape and pointed head, the piercing gaze, the yellow symbol.

"Holy shit..." Four Arms mutters, giving the symbol on his belt a light tap, transforming back into the unassuming youngster Ben. "The Batman!? No fooling, you're really a thing?"

Before Ben could continue chattering on, he feels his chin gripped tightly by the gloved right hand of the caped crusader pulling him in close. Now that piercing gaze starts to settle, eliciting a nervous gulp from the youngster.

"You're coming with me."

[kassofchaos]

The Laughing Stock

I had a stroke of inspiration tonight. This might lead to more stories down the line, creating this connected crossover universe, which might be hype.

The looming light of a full moon looms over the concrete jungle of downtown Gotham, the alleys silent and the roads only ringing with the occasional car passing by. 11 PM, most are asleep, and those who remain awake to plot and scheme know to keep their presence low, unless they wish to gather the unshakable attention of the Batman.

Tonight, the Batman did not walk the streets for crime to foil and villains to subdue. Tonight walks Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist and CEO of a myriad companies. Always in the public eye, attending to interview after interview, press meeting after press meeting. These may be his passions, but his major focus remains on his nightly work. Tonight is no difference, despite his not donning the cape.

His red car settles itself in a small parking lot, the door opening with a gentle motion as the well-dressed, young Wayne steps out, beholding before him a small bar. Above its wide doors lies a sign, illuminated with neon.

The Laughing Stock.

He takes a deep breath, straightens out his tie, and walks right on in.

At this hour, there are barely any people out at the small, homely bar, but even at this hour the appeal that drives many to drink here is evident; even someone as rich and pampered as Bruce feels a sense of belonging here. A sense of home, a small place where everyone is a friend to confide in, even the bartender.

The bartender, of course. Dressed in a white t-shirt and blue jeans, and a small, brown jacket atop that. His brown hair slicked backward, a set of large round glasses sitting crookedly atop his pointed nose. Upon hearing the door open, the bartender's attention turns to Bruce, and a wide grin adorns his face.

That smile. That damn smile.... even seeing it now after so long... dredges up memories.

"Bruce Wayne! My good friend, how goes it today?" Walking out from behind the counter, the bartender welcomes his good friend with a warm smile, a hug and a pat on the back. From here, it becomes easier for Bruce to read his crooked, rusty-gold nametag.

Jack Napier.

Bruce wills his throat into speaking, his voice particularly scratchy today. "Settle down, Jack. The usual, please."

As always, Jack is already ahead of him. He nods, giving Bruce another steady pat before headed back to the counter, getting to work on his friend's order as Bruce passes him the necessary payment, down to the exact cents.

With some time of reprieve, Bruce sighs out in relief, looking around to get a good look at who's sticking around. Nothing but a few couples of people to the far left of the seating area, none sitting just at the counter. Bruce takes the honor of seating at the counter, his eyes wandering up to the TV above. A news report, "Godzilla spotted near Metropolis". He rolls his eyes; the public puts too much focus on this kind of thing.

Within seconds after looking away from the TV, his eyes focus on the drink served before him. He gives it a good look, then looks up at Jack. He gets a shrug and a chuckle for his troubles.

"This isn't your usual, I know... I have a hunch you'd prefer this today. It's on me, Brucey, don't worry."

One step ahead of the game. Bruce looks over his drink again; just by giving it a glance he identifies it as a Royal Flush Tonic, something much more laid back than his usual... something he'd truly prefer today given the long day of stress under the public eye. He looks back up at Jack as he takes a seat right beside him; that level of intuition is what makes him an indispensable ally, and what made him a dreaded nemesis.

"So..." Jack breaks the ice, speaking at a lower, more hushed tone than usual. Time for what Bruce is here for. "... what is it this time?"

Bruce responds immediately, dropping his volume as well. "I've picked up the scent of someone new. A case concerning Dr. Animo, I noticed a pattern. Several of his past projects tie back to Gotham. He's collaborated with you several times-"

"I could never really get along with the guy, but I have to hand it to him that he's incredibly well-ordered."

Bruce sighs. Jack always seems to interrupt, but never out of an attempt to annoy. He might be a bit of a chatterbox, but he's one of wisdom.

"I discovered a pattern in his projects here at Gotham; all during December or June. Then I looked to his other crimes. Seattle always during October, Bellwood during May and August. So on and so forth... these are planned deeper than I thought."

"Calendar Man, then?"

"I've already given him an... interview."

Jack cringes just a little, the memories of the many "interviews" he was subjected to by the Batman coming back to him. "Yeugh... poor guy.."

"I didn't have to go that far, he caved like that." *Bruce snaps his fingers, looking around to make sure he isn't being listened to. Coast is clear. "He gave me a name. The Designer."

A solid few seconds of silence waft the bar, Bruce giving Jack a judgmental gaze.

"The Designer?" He crosses his arms, furrowing his brow as he tries to remember. The name... it sounds so vaguely familiar, but not so much as a tinge of memory returns. He shrugs. "Sorry, Brucey... I think I'm stumped. Someone new, I think."

"Someone new... you don't have a thing on this guy?"

"Only what you've told me, I'm afraid."

"I... should be off, then." Bruce stands himself back up, picking his drink up to take along with him. "Thanks anyway, Jack, you're a real help." A soft smile adorns the billionaire's lips.

"Not a problem, Bruce." He gives his friend one last pat on the back, and one last parting gift. "I'd be on the lookout there.... these set dates.. whoever planned this might be waiting to flip the shits on you when you aren't expecting it."

Bruce stops for a second, taking that into consideration. Of course, anyone who lets a plan be this obvious to find out is probably waiting to subvert it.

"Have a good night, Jack. I'll be in touch." He waves goodbye to the barkeep, turning and walking off to return to his car.

"I'm sure you will!" Jack laughs, his cackle rekindling old memories for the detective. That smile... that laugh.... it's a good thing he's on our side.