Rattlebone's theme is "Skeletor's Theme", appropriately enough. The stranger's theme is "Undyne" from the Undertale soundtrack.
Chapter 8: Just a Peek
Deep within the Wizard City sewer system…
Squelch. Squelch. Squelch. Worn boots waded though ankle-deep sludge, nearly getting sucked into the muck with each step.
Chink. Chink. Chink. Rusted metal loops, amateurishly sewed onto a stained leather jerkin, clinked together sadly, lamenting their sorry state.
Click. Clack. Rattle. Mismatched ribs, robbed from a dozen separate battlefields, clattered against each other noisily and, as the skulker would complain to anyone within earshot in the past, quite painfully.
Plodding along the twisted pathways, Rattlebones finally saw the dull orange lights that illuminated his current workshop. Picking up the pace, though not enough so that the sludge underfoot would get into his boots, he made it to the large slab of metal his "lab" was constructed on. It was a complete mess: beakers and cylinders filled with smoking technicolor liquids were massed on rickety wooden tables and stools, and there were scorch marks the skeleton hadn't cleaned off where cauldrons filled with unattended ingredients exploded. As he rolled his one eye, cursing the job in front of him, Rattlebones only just glimpsed one of his Shadows phase through the far wall. The eight foot tall apparition drifted to the center of the workshop, and waited for its creator's commands.
Not for the first time, Rattlebones silently thanked the heavens for the one experiment that actually worked as intended. The Shadows were versatile, powerful, deathly silent, and, most importantly, there. Everything else he made—from the old but gold Dark Fairies, to the far more powerful Fir Darrig—hadn't listened to a single command he issued, their responses ranging from mocking laughter to lashes from whips of fire. The Shadows were, in essence, Lost Souls: the long dead spirits of regular, non-magical beings, lacking voices or even true sapience. Capturing them was laughably easy; his energy traps attracted Lost Souls by the dozens, and ensnared them without a problem. From there it was simply a matter of exposing them to enough malevolent energy of the preferred School and a dark ritual or two. The specter in front of him was coal black, the gaslights making it appear that the figure wore robes of smoke; a Death Shadow, one of his personal favorites.
Rattlebones picked his way through the cluttered lab, saving a flask from falling off one table and reducing the heat on a specific brew on another, until he was face-to-face (well, face-to-torso) with his creation. "Report," he said, steeling himself for the impending onslaught. The Shadow bent in on itself, until its head nearly touched the skeleton's. For a moment, nothing happened, and Rattlebones briefly wondered if the shade had nothing to report, before a heavy, languid cacophony rushed into his head; the Shadow, being unable to speak, had simply transferred the memories of the past few hours into its creator's mind. Rattlebones had the unfortunate experience of knowing both that he was fighting his way out of a sinkhole trap just ten minutes prior, and at the same time only very nearly avoiding getting torn apart by an explosive wave of magical force, a stroke of luck that the majority of its brethren didn't have. With some effort, he ordered the thoughts, analyzing the potentially disastrous development. He wasn't able to sense energy, a design flaw all but a few Undead shared, so he didn't know about this force at all before the Shadow "told" him. From the memories, he recognized its source as human, almost definitely a Wizard, but the situation had simply been too chaotic to glean any more information. Also troubling was the fact that most of his Shadows were destroyed. He could always make more, of course, but the ease at which the Wizard obliterated them was astounding, and more than a little disconcerting. If they're here for me, he thought nervously, I'll need even stronger wards to hide this place. That means I'll have to ask… them. He shuddered involuntarily. Okay, Rattlebones, there's no need to panic. They're usually not that bad. I'll just contact them, and they'll… wait. How do I contact them?
The skeleton frantically searched though his mind for the rather intricate ritual, even as he pulled a lump of pulsing coal out of a sparkling cerise potion, inspected it, and carefully lowered it into a forest green draught. Nothing! It's like it was spirited away by… them. He knew it was true the moment he realized it. He "stomped" around his workshop, hard enough to make a satisfying clang against the metal floor, but not enough to disturb the volatile contents of his workshop.
"They think they can just use me to further their own agenda, and bail out when they've got everything they need?! Well I've got news for you, pal! Rattlebones is no one's servant, or their fool!" He was getting into it, gaze and finger pointed toward the ceiling as if exulting to the sky. "I'll track you down, you hear me?! I'll find you, and then I'll—"
"Really, there's no need for shouting, Rattles. I'm always at your beck and call." He whirled around, jumping back from the figure before him, bathed in the shadows left by his gas lamps. "Y-y-y-y-y-you! Y-y-you're here! W-what a p-p-pleasant surp-p-prise."
The figure rolled their eyes and said matter-of-factly, "Do save the forced formalities for a more appropriate situation." They brushed something like dust off their shoulder, and stepped into the light.
At first, in his fear, Rattlebones could only register bits and pieces of information about the figure in front of him: a jet-black cloak with silver accents; white skin and hair; flashing red eyes; a grin full of silver fangs, snapped together like a bear trap. He shook his head, and looked at the figure again, calm enough to see the whole picture. Standing in front of him was a… girl? A boy? He wasn't sure. On one hand, their figure certainly looked boyish, if slender, but on the other hand…
"Rattles, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to deal with the cauldron next to you? I'm not an alchemist, but I'm sure that potion isn't supposed to be SPARKING." If nothing else, they sounded like a normal teenage girl. It was, to say the least, unnerving. The potion next to him burst into flames, so he pulled out a small bottle of graveyard dirt, the final ingredient, and stirred it in. The flames turned purple, then green, and finally as clear as crystal before sinking back into the potion. He moved it off the fire to allow it to cool, and turned back to the visibly impatient androgyne.
"What do you want, Rattles?" Their voice was even, but the smile was gone; they wanted this over and done with just as much as Rattles—RattleBONES—did.
"There's a Wizard here. I think they're searching for me. I need the wards strengthened."
"I still don't understand the secrecy. I mean, you have those,"they said, looking pointedly at the objects in the corner of the workshop: two large pods made of metal and glass, in which two indistinct forms lied in stasis.
Rattlebones shook his head immediately. "They aren't stable yet. It's too risky to rely on them." That, and the fact that they may just kill me if they find my plans not to their liking. He always did have the worst luck with servants. "So will you ward the place for me or not?"
They pursed their lips, thinking. "I suppose I can," they began cautiously, "but I need to check how strong this Wizard is, first." They looked up, as if to concentrate on feeling out their target's exact power level. After a few seconds, they nodded to themself and went to each corner of the room, muttering incantations laden with intent. In the meantime, Rattlebones began bottling and corking the potion, being careful not to let a drop of the charged brew so much as touch him. Lifting one of the flasks to the light, he watched the potion's swirling bolt of lightning for any sign of dissipation. He turned back to his… visitor, as they completed their warding. "There you go," they said with a smug grin. "No matter what that Wizard of yours does, they won't be able to find this lab; magically, anyway. Is there anything else?"
"No, nothing. Er, thank you…?" Rattlebones said, trying to draw out a name or title. But they only chuckled, fangs glinting in the light. "Like I said before, Rattles, no names on my end. Potions?" Biting back a grumble, he gave half of the sparking potions to them, as well as several other types. They tucked the potions away in their cloak. "Consider the warding my payment this week," they said simply, and before Rattlebones could argue the point, the world seemed to unfocus for an instant, as if he crossed his eyes slightly (back when he had two, of course), and it refocused a fraction of a second later, with his cheapskate benefactor gone. Staring at the place they stood just a moment before, Rattlebones felt a deep annoyance in his bones, even as a cauldron in the back erupted a storm of small, yapping dogs.
He faced the noisy mob snarling, in absolutely no mood, only to be swamped by the furry white avalanche. "Hey! Ow! Gerroutofit, you mutts!" he managed to say before a particularly fat dog opted to lie down on his face, muffling his words. After a minute of blindly trying to keep the dogs from gnawing on him, he finally fought his way free, only to have his forearm wrought off by an especially determined one, who then ran off into the sewer main. He chased after it, cursing furiously all the while.