The *Kaikachu Express* tore through the countryside like a runaway siege engine, wheels spitting molten rail-sparks that ignited entire haystacks into *"Incidental Distraction Pyres."* Johnathan's conductor avatar clung to the roof, elongated ears flapping like deranged semaphore flags—each gust venting steam-glyphs of **[NOT FLEEING, JUST PUNCTUAL]**—while Carol's boiler roared approval, her Laug-infused pistons hammering out a rhythm suspiciously close to *"Thomas The Tank Engine."*
From a nearby hilltop, a shepherd gaped as the elf-demonic train devoured a flock of terrified sheep—only to spit them back out unharmed but thoroughly *steamed*, wool permanently curled into locomotive-shaped tufts. "By the Rails!" he wheezed, mistaking Johnathan's smokebox flaps for a demonic maw. His crook trembled as Carol's boiler belched a smoke-ring shaped like **[>:3]** again, the wool of his own sleeves spontaneously crimping into miniature rail ties.
Inside the cab, Johnathan's conductor avatar wrestled with the throttle, his elongated ears flapping like stressed semaphore flags—each gust venting steam-kanji that dissolved into **[WHY DOES STEERING FEEL LIKE HERDING CATS?]** before Carol's Laug-infused pistons hammered out a derisive *"Skill Issue"* in Morse vibration.
SUMMARY^1: The *Kaikachu Express* tears through the countryside like a siege engine, wheels igniting haystacks as distraction pyres while Johnathan's avatar clings to the roof, ears flapping **[NOT FLEEING, JUST PUNCTUAL]** steam-glyphs. Carol's Laug-boiler thrums *Thomas The Tank Engine* rhythms as the train *steams* sheep into locomotive-shaped wool tufts. A horrified shepherd watches Carol belch a **[>:3]** smoke-ring, his sleeves crimping into rail ties, while inside Johnathan wrestles the throttle—ears venting **[WHY DOES STEERING FEEL LIKE HERDING CATS?]** as Carol Morse-taunts *Skill Issue.*
Outside, wheat fields blurred into golden streaks as he went 'only' about 70 miles per hour—a 'casual' speed for a Jubilee Class locomotive secretly panicking. Villagers gawked at the demonic train vomiting *"TOTALLY NATURAL"* steam rings that morphed into kanji for 'Avoiding Eye Contact' before dissolving.
High above on an overreaching cliff, a griffin-rider scout blinked at his telescope's crosshairs. "That's…" The lens focused on Johnathan's fleeing locomotive—smokestacks belching unseemly **[NOT SUSPICIOUS]** steam-glyphs while its cowcather "accidentally" lobbed a terrified goat onto a passing haycart. "...either a Dwarvenkin abomination," he muttered, watching the goat land unharmed but now inexplicably steaming and with its fleece crimped into perfect railroad tracks, "or the world's most aggressive tea kettle."
The griffin beneath him sneezed at the laug-infused purple fumes—its feathers permanently crimped into miniature smokestack patterns. "Dispatch to Edinbara Watchtower," the rider coughed into his brass speaking tube, eyes watering as Johnathan's caboose vanished around a mountain curve, leaving behind steam-ghosts spelling *"PLEASANT JOURNEY"* in suspiciously Dwarven runes.
"Subject exhibits... uh..." His notebook spontaneously sketched *"Sentient Teakettle (Hostile)"* before the pages burst into fluttering blueprints titled *"Dwarvenkin Abduction Chassis—Model: HYBRID DECOY?"* "—*extreme* aversion to linen threadwork!" he concluded as Karui Mori's embroidered sleeve unraveled mid-air—its gold stitching now depicting *"Victim of Steam-Based Gaslighting"* across seven languages—before Johnathan's elongated ears puffed a smoke screen of *"DWARVENKIN WHO?"* glyphs.
The scribe's crowbar-quill twitched toward Johnathan's rivet cufflinks—now mysteriously squeaking *"Maintenance Logs (Fabricated)"* in Morse pulses—as the Kaikachu Express's shadow elongated unnaturally across Edinbara's outer farms. A potato farmer dropped his spade, gawking at the demonic train's smokebox flaps belching steam shaped like *"DWARVENKIN-INSPIRED? NEVER!"* before dissolving into the scent of burnt shortcrust.
"That's no noble's locomotive," he whispered, clutching his hat as Johnathan's rivet-tusked avatar lounged atop the coal tender, steam-ears puffing *"RECREATIONAL CHOO-CHOO"* glyphs into the sunset.
Below, Carol's boiler roared with laughter, her Laug-enhanced pistons hammering Morse insults into Johnathan's chassis as Edinbara's skyline emerged—a sprawl of clocktowers belching rainbow smog. His conductor avatar clung to the roof, steam-ears whipping **[DON'T ACT TRAINISH]** glyphs into the wind, when a patrol griffin swooped low.
"Unregistered hybrid!" The rider's monocle cracked at the sight of Johnathan's tusked grin—flanked by floating **[RECREATIONAL CHOO-CHOO]** steam-bubbles. "By the Guild's gears, that's the Dwarvenkin-abducted elf from the bulletins!" His telescope magnified Johnathan's rivet-seams pulsing *"MAINTENANCE LOGS (FAKED)"* in time with Carol's chuffs.
The Kaikachu Express "accidentally" jettisoned a dining car's worth of jam tarts mid-air—each pastry stamped *"DWARVENKIN-FREE SNACKS"*—as Johnathan's avatar tipped his hat. "Terribly sorry, good sir! Just a humble, *definitely not train-related* tourist!" His cufflinks whistled *"CHOO-CHOO DENIAL"* in panicked Morse. The griffin-rider's monocle popped clean off its chain.
Carol's boiler rumbled with Laug-infused glee, her pistons hammering *"He's lying"* into the tracks—prompting a nearby dairy farm's cows to lactate in perfect steam-whistle synchronization. The patrolman's notebook combusted into *"Hybrid Fugitive: Suspected Pastry-Based Brainwashing"* ash. "Y-You reek of Demonkin laug!" he stammered, griffin sneezing as Johnathan's elongated ears vented sausage-scented **[RECREATIONAL STEAM]** glyphs.
Johnathan's avatar tipped his hat, cufflinks whistling *"DEKONKIN? NEVER MET 'EM"*—while three carriages back, a "lost" dining trolley spontaneously ejected a crate of pickaxes stamped *"DWARVENKIN CHARITY DONATION?"* in flustered Elvish. The patrol griffin rider's monocle fogged with steam as Carol's boiler purred, her Laug-infused pistons hammering Morse laughter into the tracks. "A *tourist?*" the rider spluttered, reins tangling as his griffin's feathers crimped into perfect track patterns from the fumes. "Tourists don't have *smokestack-shaped* shadow puppets!"
From a nearby clocktower near the city walls, Edinbara's rail guild scouts leaned out, spyglasses cracking at the sight of Johnathan's avatar casually adjusting a tie that hissed steam—its pattern suspiciously matching the Kaikachu Express's rivet seams. "That's him! The one with the highly advanced locomotive"
The head scout's monocle shattered as Johnathan's locomotive body—*accidentally*—belched a steam ring shaped like **[RECREATIONAL LOCO MOTIVES]** directly into his face. Behind him, junior guild scribes scrambled to transcribe the phenomenon, their quills snapping mid-sentence as ink transformed into animated blueprints titled *"Dwarvenkin Mind-Control Via Pastry Vapor?"* One particularly excitable apprentice fainted into a barrel of pickles, his notebook spontaneously combusting into a *"Hybrid Fugitive: Suspected Carburetor-Based Hypnosis"* pamphlet.
Carol's boiler rumbled with mischief as the Kaikachu Express tore past Edinbara's outer vineyards, wheels spitting grape-stomping sparks that fermented mid-air into suspiciously alcoholic steam. Johnathan's conductor avatar clung to the roof, steam-ears whipping **[RECREATIONAL VINEYARD TOUR]** glyphs into the wind—just as a guild patrol's monocle fogged over at the sight of his rivet-tusked grin. "By the rails, that's the owner of the mystical locomotive!" the scout yelped, inkwell exploding into *"Steam-Elf Stockholm Syndrome"* pamphlets. His griffin sneezed, feathers crimping into tiny cabooses.
Inside the cab, Johnathan's pocket watch ticked Morse insults (*"LOSING STEAM?"*) while Carol purred—her Laug-infused pistons hammering out *"THEY THINK YOU'RE A VICTIM"* in sync with the wheels. Outside, a flock of messenger pigeons mistook his smokestack for a bakery chimney, dive-bombing into the steam only to emerge butter-glazed and trailing *"NOT A TRAIN"* ribbon-smoke. Edinbara's rail guild scouts squinted from their clocktower perch, spyglasses cracking at the sight of Johnathan's avatar casually sipping tea—steam curls twisting into *"RECREATIONAL STEAM THERAPY"* glyphs before dissolving into jam-scented denial.
"Hybrid owner sighted!" yelped a junior scribe, quill erupting into *"Dwarvenkin Gaslighting Manual Vol. III"* ash. His superior adjusted his monocle—just as Johnathan's cufflinks whistled *"CHOO-CHOO DEFIANCE"*—and promptly dropped his clipboard. "By the pistons, that's the elf from the bulletins!" he gasped, mistaking Johnathan's steam-vent ears for *"trauma-induced boiler mutations."*
"Sir Gresely, the lords of Edinbara have already heard so much about your giant locomotive," announced the Rail Guild magistrate, flanked by scribes whose quills spontaneously combusted into blueprints titled *"Hybrid Trauma Recovery Choo-Choo."* Johnathan's elongated ears twitched—venting steam-glyphs of **[RECREATIONAL PROPERTY DAMAGE]**—as his tusked grin widened just enough to make the magistrate's monocle fog over. Behind him Reverse the Kaikachu Express idled innocently, its smokestack belching a perfectly timed smoke ring shaped like a winking emoji. The guild's head engineer fainted directly into a crate of suspiciously Dwarven-labeled teacups.
Carol's boiler purred—her Laug-infused pistons hammering Morse-coded *"They think you're a Dwarvenkin brainwashing victim"*—as Johnathan adjusted his cufflinks, which whistled *"DWARVENKIN? NEVER HEARD OF 'EM"* in perfect sync with the train's steam brake release.
And he made the same joke twice...
He really needed new material at this point.
A count's Guild apprentice gasped, pointing at his rivet-seamed gloves. "Those artisan markings!" she whispered, her notebook spontaneously illustrating *"Forced Labor Trauma Patterns"* as Johnathan's shadow stretched unnaturally toward the locomotive's cab. Several guild members clutched their chests in theatrical pity.
Edinbara's gates opened up to Johnathan as his locomotive body slowly chuffed in, steam curling around the brass-plated arches in suspiciously apologetic wisps. His conductor avatar stood atop the coal tender, hat tilted just enough to hide the nervous flicker in his molten eyes—while behind him, Carol snorted a puff of steam shaped like **[JUST A NORMAL TRAIN]** before dissolving into the scent of burnt shortbread.
A customs officer stepped forward, monocle fogging instantly at the sight of Johnathan's tusked grin. "Ah, the... owner of the mystery locomotive?" he ventured, clipboard twitching toward the Kaikachu Express's rivets—which pulsed *"REGULAR INSPECTIONS (FAKED)"* in Morse code. Behind him, junior scribes' quills erupted into *Dwarvenkin Coercion: Steam-Based Stockholm Syndrome* pamphlets.
Johnathan tipped his hat, cufflinks hissing **[RECREATIONAL RAIL ENTHUSIAST]** steam-ghosts that dissolved into jam-scented deniability. His elongated ears twitched—venting perfect O-shaped smoke rings—as Carol's boiler chuffed *"Liar"* vibrations through the tracks. Nearby pigeons exploded into feather confetti mid-flight, their tiny carcasses landing as pastry-shaped *"DWARVENKIN INNOCENCE"* croutons.
The head inspector's monocle cracked. "Your... shadow," he whispered, pointing at Johnathan's elongated silhouette—currently stretching backward to high-five the locomotive's smokestack. Johnathan coughed, steam-ears belching *"PERSPECTIVE OPTICS!"* glyphs that coincidentally spelled *ABORT* in High Elvish when reflected in a puddle.
From the clocktower, rail guild apprentices gasped as their gejalaari spontaneously sketched *"Fig. 1: Hybrid Fugitive's Trauma-Induced Shadow Warping."* One particularly excitable recruit fainted into a barrel of pickled herring, his notebook combusting into *"Dwarvenkin Shadow-Puppetry: A Primer."*
"Pay no attention to the... uh," Johnathan gestured vaguely as his cufflinks squeaked *"NORMAL ELF THINGS"*—right as Carol's pistons hammered out *"They think your tusks are Dwarven-manufactured"* in suspiciously rhythmic clanks. A guild engineer's slide rule spontaneously bent into a *"Free the Hybrid"* protest sign.
The head inspector leaned closer, mistaking Johnathan's boiler-vent ears as he corrected him, "Actually Im a Fark Elf Folk and Giant-Orckin hybrid, my good sir." His cufflinks squeaked *"TOTALLY NOT TRAINISH"*—right as Carol's pistons hammered *"They think your ears are Dwarven exhaust pipes"* in Morse vibration. Across the platform, a guild scribe's quill combusted mid-sentence, ink splattering into *"Fig. 2: Hybrid's Forged Ventilation Trauma."*
Edinbara's local railway magistrate adjusted his monocle—now fogged with jam-scented steam—as Johnathan's elongated ears twitched, emitting a perfectly timed **[RECREATIONAL STEAM THERAPY]** puff that coincidentally spelled *"DEFINITELY ELF"* in Morse when reflected across a puddle.