Freyd - The Whisper in Shadows

This wasn't like Oscar. He was the self-appointed king of nonsense, in Freyd's mind at least. For him to give up so easily on such a contest was inconsistent with his character. Something was bothering him. Freyd also hardly knew the man, but he made a point of knowing how to read people. There was a casual ennui about him that was meant to be concealed behind a veneer of ridicule and absurdity, which he had just dropped. The doe-eyed look of innocence faded as Freyd's facade did the same. It was time to get back to business. His bucket hat and glasses disappeared in an instant, replaced by his trademark black cloth cowl. His Hawaiian shirt, meanwhile, was only unequipped and re-appeared his hands a moment later. Freyd deliberately spilled the last of his drink on it and tossed the glass high into the air, as if expecting it to vanish. He knew full well that Oscar was watching his little show, wondering where things were going next. Quickly wrapping the soaked clothing around both hands, he spared a moment to give his companion a quick 'trust me' wink. That's when the glass landed two feet behind the lizard. The thing nearly died of fright leaping into the air like a cat towards the ceiling at the sudden and startling noise, landing straight into the waiting wetted cloth. Freyd had it wrapped neatly into a bundle an second later. "The red salamanders around here run extra hot - enough to singe their way though dry cloth in a matter of seconds. This," he nodded to the dripping improvised bag in his hands, "should give us a few minutes instead. Come on. Let's go beat up a fish. You look like you could use it."

Clinging by one hand from a hanging crystal on the cavern ceiling high above, Freyd lurked like some sort of bizarre arachnid surveying the scene unfolding below. The blood crystals had seemingly lost their power. Skalaugh was at his most dangerous, but also, perhaps, his most vulnerable? A few of the heroes below had taken hits, but their lines had held, and even recovered thanks to good cooperation. Excellent. The immense crystalline dragon was now too swollen with power to attempt flight. The fool had grounded himself, ensuring that he would remain within range of their attacks. They just had to move him into the kill box between the tanks and wail away on him again. A quick sword slash cut the tip from an adjacent crystal. He watched it sail downward, landing precisely where he'd intended: thirty feet to Raidou's left. The Red Wanderer was ever-ready and would know what the signal meant. Even at this distance, a quick glance from Firm Anima's vanguard captain would be enough for them to communicate intent. Their thoughts had been in sync since they had first met. Now was the time to turn that to advantage. Sure enough, he saw the man glance at the stone, following its source up in his direction. He shifted ever so slightly. Skalaugh's bulk was focused entirely on him for the moment and followed without realizing how it was being led by the nose. "Come on, just a little more...and... there!" Releasing his grip, Freyd plunged silently and directly onto the mighty Reaver's head driving his sword down beneath him and deep into the thick crust of shards between Skalaugh's eyes. The beast snarled and flinched momentarily, uncertain of what was happening. Good. Let's try to keep him off balance. "Hey, jerk. Miss me?" All Freyd had to do now was hold on for dear life, not get swatted or smashed into the roof and keep driving that blade down ever deeper. How hard could that be? Vanity Tag: @Raidou

My initial reaction to Mari and Fontsa's 'slap spat' was to tilt my head with curiosity. Fontsa was about to storm after her when I clenched the shoulder of her injured arm and squeezed tight. She cried out and collapsed - the pain suppression having itself apparently been suppressed for added effect. Interesting. Bending down, I spoke sternly into her other ear loud enough that Mari could hear. "That woman just saved your life. You know less of her than she knows of you, and what you're feeling right now is incomparable to what she's endured. Make another foolish accusation, or speak to her that way again and I will cut you down myself." My hand clenched again for emphasis. "Do we understand each other?" She nodded, her teeth clenched tightly. "Your assumptions were all stupidly wrong," I added, in a quieter voice. Fontsa seemed to get my drift. This was going to be a long and awkward walk home if things stayed as they were. Straightening, and helping the dark elf get back up as well, I pursued my original line of questioning. "I'll accept your reaction as a response to my second question, but that still leaves the first. Why did you come back here?" We started walking so that Mari wouldn't get too far ahead. "I cannot say." It was a pathetic attempt at deflection. At least make up a plausible lie, or go all out weaving an elaborate tale with enough half-truths to be plausible. Okay... maybe that's just what I'd do. Still. I wasn't having it. "Fontsa, you may want to have a word with my companion if you think that I'm the 'nice one' in our little duo. I'm sure she could enlighten you. So when I ask you what you were doing here, you should seriously consider providing me with a more fulsome and truthful response. Despite our little heroic moment back there, neither one of us seems to be in a particularly charitable mood at the moment." I do so love layering on a little subtle body language to emphasize a point. A grip of the pommel and creaking sound of leather on metal, combined with the deliberate clank of metal on metal as the blade strike a well-placed buckle. Words can so easily be reinforced or altered by such things, going so far to as to take on a completely different meaning. All it takes it practice and awareness. "So, in the spirit of a much more pleasant walk back to Kalanaes, why don't you try that again?" I smiled, but my eyes told her the truth, especially when they glanced at the charm she still clutched in her useful hand. "The Council wanted assurances that the Queen was actually dead - a body, symbol of office, or something beyond rumour and speculation." She sighed, finding the politics of it exhausting. "The Order of the Night Lily served as her majesty's personal guard for countless generations. But... I think they're just sending us out on solo suicide missions to get us out of the way." Fontsa turned to look me in the eyes. "I don't mind being expendable. Soldiers have to live with that. I just hate the idea of being thrown away."

"So... yeah... mountain." Freyd pointed up at the big hunk of digital rock pretending to loom over them. Of course, it was, but also was not. It was weird. He stopped thinking about it. "I still think it would have been more fun to use one of those leftover catapult to launch ourselves here, but your plan was better." It was a clear and deliberate jab and reference to their shared experiences on floor nine. Freyd had appreciated some of Oscar's points, at the time, and put them to good use since - especially against Skalaugh. As much of an aloof, dismissive goof as the big man could be, there was clearly a hypercharged and probably cocaine-addicted hamster at the wheel, keeping him connected with the world. It was nice that he pretended not to care. And it matched so well with his own efforts to pretend that he did. "What was that travel-babble you were going on about?" He grimaced as something was tickling the pocket of his glaringly red shirt. Pulling out a tiny red lizard, he couldn't realize its colour because the dark tint on his glasses, or that it was precisely the sort of salamander they were looking for. Oscar could only watch in dismay as the tiny bait-to-be went sailing backwards in the most awkward, flailing arc possible, only to vanish into some inconveniently located crevice of infinite depth. "What?!" Freyd said, looking confused at his companion's expression. "What's the look for?"

Freyd beamed at her compliment. "Marv is a star, and often dismissed as 'just an NPC', but I've had deeper and more meaningful conversations with him than many other 'real' people." His tone was surprisingly soft and serene, especially given the oddity of his behaviour, but this was just who Freyd was. He was unbalanced, and so kept everyone off balance as well? Maybe. Glancing sideways at Ruler, he suddenly appreciated that she wasn't actually wearing her traditional heavy armor. "You dressed down." A smile crept across his face. "I wasn't sure you could manage it. Nicely done. Is there a special occasion? Or is this how knights warm up for dragon hunting?" It was only meant as banter. Freyd was suspicious that there was more to Ruler than she was letting on. If she was prepared to let her hair down, maybe her guard might follow? It had to be worth a shot.

"Oh, come on!" An exasperated Freyd clambered out from beneath the bleachers, his right leg getting stuck between the boards. Being reasonably tall and lanky, with a wiry build, he somehow seemed to lack the simple coordination required to turn his foot ninety degrees and get it through. It was odd, like watching a child with one of those soccer-ball shaped toys with all the different shapes around the outside, but if the kid couldn't figure out how to pull the two side apart to get the blocks back out. Valentina and the NPCs were completely agog. Their brains couldn't quite process whether he was annoyed that his foot was stuck, or at them for their inadvertent revelations, or both?! Everyone just stood around stunned, before looking at each other, and then finally wondering where the hell this guy had come from. "Do you people honestly believe that this is an acceptable level of scheming and villainy?!" Limping around, arms way out above his head, making himself and his reaction seem to be double the size it needed to be, he ranted on. "Teddy bear hair clips?! Really? And, are you seriously crazy enough to think that front liners in their pajama's are any less deadly? Have you ever considered that this world has +3 DMG lingerie!?" "YOU!" He pointed directly at Valentina, whose ghostly blue eyes were still wide with confusion. "Seem very much like the type of person who should understand this!" Freyd's arms spread wide, causing all of the surrounding NPCs to step back, parting to provide him the escape route which had been his goal this entire time. "And the rest of you! Going along with this sadistic nonsense?!" Freyd grabbed the frayed edge of an open flap in the outer wall of a tent. "WHAT WOULD YOUR MOTHERS SAY?" Giving them all a bulging glare mixed in with a dose of crazy-eyes, he gazed into them the concept of shame and disappoint before pulling back the curtain and exiting with magnificently over-exaggerated flare.

"Oh," Freyd replied, watching Oscar alter his attire, his eyebrows arching in surprise. "Were we supposed to wear costumes? These really are just my fishing clothes." Despite the absurdity, Freyd appeared to be quite sincere. If Oscar was going to play games, he'd mess with him in every way possible. There was also no way that he could possibly match that accent. "So... mountain? Bait? How the hell do you catch salamanders, anyway?" He scratched at his cap, but Oscar wondered if he was somehow trying to pull up his missing cowl. "We riding mud slugs to the far side, or launching ourselves on the remnants of the... trebuchet." His eyes scanned over the edge of the crater as the gears in his mind spun at warp speed at the possibilities. A great and terrible smile spread across his face. Turning and looking up at Oscar, he was sizing up whether the big man might potentially fly. "You feeling at all... ballistic?"

Rolling forward and into a standing position with surprising ease and agility, he dusted himself off and looked at his hand. All signs of injury were already gone. Flexing the digits, then wiggling them around individually for a moment seemed to satisfy him regarding whatever oddity or curiosity he was pondering. "Yeah, Katoka's right," he replied to Elora. "You may have gotten lucky that it was just the haft. Damage to the blade itself might require the expertise of a craftsman to repair, if it could be at all. It's remarkable that the mob managed to damage it at all." He poked the shaft with his index finger, as if it was somehow going to provoke some profound change. "As to our little chat," he paused pensively, "I've found it best to consider the thoughts and emotions of those we slaughter, trying to ease any lingering post-respawn malice. The Sundered Spire was born of callous disregard. It doesn't do us much good to help their cause by acting like the unfeeling killers they think we are." Dismissing his weapon back into the shadows, he urged both of his fellow players back to town so that they could gather their rewards and prepare for the next leg of the quest chain. One of the tiresome little voices chattering endlessly in his mind was scolding him for making it seem like his motivations for appeasing the dragon were motivated by sympathy. Of course they weren't. It was simply more practical to deny their enemy further strength, even if it meant having to lie. *** Thread Summary: Each participant receives: 3 SP (1 page, +1 event +1 quest bonus) 333 col <Zylara’s Quartz> [Vanity Quest Item] : 1 of 9, collect all 9 and meet whom that waits before you, only then will you get the grand prize.

Freyd chose to take advantage of a highly unusual situation, and to liven it up a bit. Elora and Katoka were basically hacking and slashing at the thing while it used its wings to foil their attacks. The former had somehow broken her spear. The dragon, for its part, still had its jaws and stumpy mouth chomping away furiously on Freyd's hand, even as the bleed effect from his weapon continued to melt and deflate the now cartoonish-looking mob's features into a pile of slimy goop. Laying himself out on his back, he looked like he was sunning himself while the thing ineffectually tried to devour him. "Look, I realize that we haven't known each other very long," he began, speaking softly to the still disintegrating dragon. "And by the looks of things, we also won't for much longer. I just wanted to say that I really appreciate you helping out the newbies like this. No, really! It's very selfless of you and we truly appreciate your sacrifice." He patted it gently on the head , some of the dissolving mesh sticking like liquefied brain matter to his gloves. He wiped it off on a nearby rock without breaking eye contact with the beast. An instant later, the bleed effect kicked in and the dragon practically popped like a burst balloon. "Well," Freyd began, sitting up from his prone position like some sort of strange automaton. "That was different." Picking up his sword he gave both women a half-crazed grin and a big thumbs up. Elora | HP:420/420 | EN:23/42 | DMG:8 | EVA:1 | ACC:1 | L.M.:2 | KEEN:1 Katoka | HP:360/360 | EN:27/36 | DMG:8 | EVA:1 | ACC:2 | LD:1 | BLD:12 | REC:2 Freyd, The Whisper in Shadows | HP:1109/1110 | EN:107/108 | DMG:19 | MIT:79 | EVA:2 | ACC:4 | KEEN:1 | HLY:6 | BLD:36 | BH:22 Freyd takes no action. [1,1,2] Quartz Hatching: HP: 0/175 - MIT: 35 - ACC: 1 - EVA: 0 - DMG: 65 (24 - 36) (36 Bleed, 2/2) Abilities: <<Mend Mini-Twigs>> : On a natural roll of 15+ in LD when this attacks, miniature sticks will form in front of your character in attempts to trip you, in result you will receive -1 ACC on your current attack.

It was risky, but what wasn't these days? Freyd had crawled into the big top and was watching the 'rehearsal' unfold from beneath some of the hastily erected wooden bleachers along the periphery of the main performance space. It stank of digital dung - a subject on which he had unintentionally become something of an expert. The 'lady' in charge, and he used the term very loosely, was quite the piece of work. Outlandish costumes were par for the course when it came to sideshows and circuses, but she had taken it to an entirely new level, and not in a good way. Her show was more akin to an abattoir than a performance floor. Anyone other than a sadist would find it revolting. The animals in her 'acts' were basically being dissected live, mis-using the pain-suppression functions of the game to do things that no sane individual would ever even consider. So much for my hopes that she might just be misunderstood. This one was completely nutters, with an entourage of twisted NPCs, probably driven mad by the same glitch that had spawned the Sundered Spire in the first place. "Damn, Elora. Please tell me you're done whatever the hell you were thinking of doing and we can get out of here," he thought to himself. He was about to roll back out from under the bleachers and make his way back to find her when a pair of thick, heavily muscled orcish-looking legs in heavy black iron boots came to stand just beyond the tattered black tarp that concealed him from view. It was also his only way out.

"I-I've never seen one before. I mean, it probably won't be a problem, right? She can't be any stronger than you are, and I think that we're still inside of the town" Freyd's cowl slowly turned to face her, his eyes conveying his best 'did-you-seriously-just-say that' face. Elora dashed off in the direction of the tents before he could stop her. "Dammit, Elora!" he hissed through clenched teeth. The woman's impulsive actions were going to get them both killed. There was no way to tell what level that PKer might be, but they didn't tend to be low. An urgent and constant need to ensure your own survival bred a quick and dangerous rise in power. Still, this was an exceptionally odd place to find such an individual. Unfortunately, Elora seemed to forget that her own green icon made her stand out starkly in a crowd of NPC, as much as an orange icon in a crowd of dead players. Self-confidence risked becoming dead noob meat in a heartbeat if she wasn't more careful. She'd gone too far for him to follow without risking exposure. It left few options. Freyd's head slowly turned as if the motion of his neck was somehow feeding energy to the bulk over his head. Barrels? No. He didn't know anything about this place or its ringleader just yet. He had no evidence to support any conclusions, other than the fact that they needed to tread cautiously. If Elora was going to dart for the cages, he might as well position himself somewhere more useful. Breaking off into the shadows, he made for his new destination.

The gentle touch of Mari’s hand seemed to slow time as she casually moved me out of the way of her intended attack, lining up the goatmen for the kill. Unexpected. She had actually bothered. I half expected to be caught in the blender and she mowed down everything within reach, regardless of its IFF tag. There was a thirst for violence in her eyes barely concealed behind a veneer and demeanor that was cold as ice. I knew that look. I am that look. But then why move me out of the splash zone? She was changing. There was already a marked difference in her seriousness. Even her manner of walk had been altered. It was harsher. Edgier. There was a mix of callous disregard and predatory nature at play. Was this her old self returning? The influence of that oozy gemini/darkness thingy? Maybe it as just the manifestation of annoyance writ large, for all the time people had fucked with her. Perhaps. She seemed like she had messed with more than a few herself. How quaint that she gets to rage at her treatment yet treats herself so much worse. Only Mari is allowed to judge Mari? Life doesn’t work that way. The elven woman - Fontsa, or something - was clamering for attention. I was daydreaming again. It really needs to stop. She offered thanks as I pulled her to her feet, cradling her right arm, which had a series of slashes and bite marks across it. “Choose the wrong shield arm this morning?” I asked, semi-seriously. She didn’t appreciate the humour as much as the rescue. Her features and dress matched the description provided by Tythen, but one has to be sure. “I need two answers from you before we can get out of here. Firstly, what were you doing here? Secondly, who would have given me this?” The sun charm necklace slinked through my fingers clinking like a tiny wind chime as it did so. A look of defiance in her eyes melted away to tears when she saw it, and she flung her arms around me. I did the only reasonable thing and looked at her funny. “What’s with all the touching today?!” I asked, confused by the unexpected gesture and sobbing that followed. “Mari?” I called. “I think she sprung a leak.” There seemed to be a lot of that going around.

Her hand. I tensed as she grasped my wrist, no doubt seeking better purchase. She would think it was a reflex to counterbalance her pull, but the truth was that I simply remained unaccustomed to the prospect of physical contact. Couldn’t she just have used the handholds on the rock? Gravity held considerably less sway in this world, and she could have leapt half way up that tower, if she’d chosen. I blinked, eyes innocently wide. It was deliberate. It had to be. What was she playing at? "You'd assume all the other bodies would have dissipated too - but they're still here. I'd say this entire battle area is a quest zone. And they remain for....ambient effect." “They’re just part of the scenery?” I grunted in agreement, trying to refocus on the task. “Grim, but accurate.” The chill in the air and our surroundings made the presence of her ambient body heat even more noticeable. Why would Cardinal need to simulate that? Could it be that some mobs tracked players by body heat? It was a thought worthy of further exploration, but not in this moment. "We'd best check any bodies we pass that look like they're lying atop another. She may be hiding under a corpse." This new Mari seemed far more rational and practical. It was a welcome change. Her previously erratic and emotionally charged behaviour had proven challenging, though patterns had gradually begun to emerge. Based on her reputation, I had honestly expected to be hit, stabbed, or worse, by now. That I haven’t suggested that my original assumptions might actually be correct. It was an awful risk, but Mari held too much potential to be left wallowing in the shadows. The outer ruins of the dark elf capital yielded nothing. The tragedy that has swept this place had been thorough. Any survivors would have fled long ago. My suspicions around Tythen’s story were growing. His wife couldn’t have been here for the original incident. She must have returned here afterwards, looking for something, or someone. Mari and I had been at it for several hours and were nearly at the central tower when a braying cry and woman’s scream broke the eerie silence. Sparing only a quick glance to confirm that Mari had heard it too, I dashed forward, rounding a ruined gatehouse into what resembled a small garrison outpost. Little remained, save broken masonry, shattered timbers and a few scraps of faded tapestry. Several bore the sun-bleached symbol of the night lily, suggesting the heraldric symbols of a noble house or military unit. These were matched with the symbol of a crown above them. The Queen’s guard, perhaps? On the far side of the courtyard, an elven woman matching the description of Fonsa provided by Tythen was fending off four enraged, goat-headed beast men. Her sword arm hung limply at her side as she sought feebly to protect herself with her shield. With only defense as an option, her fate would be inevitable unless we intervened. I’d seen enough to satisfy me of the circumstances and broke into an open sprint. The soothing light of Grief’s Harbinger gathered at my fingertips as the blade coalesced from nothing, its inner darkness was encased in some sort of holy ward and seething with anticipation to unleash its rage. The sword and I had a lot in common. I screamed a challenge, which was enough to distract her assailants and have them focus on me instead. A sudden burst of speed propelled me into them, hurtling like a bowling ball against a bunch of well-deserving pins. They scattered accordingly upon impact, clearing a path to the wounded knight. "Fonsa?" I managed to say while she crumpled against the nearest wall, too exhausted or injured to stand any longer. The mark on her chest had already answered, though she barely managed a nod to further confirm it. "Good. Tythen sent us. Do us both a favour and don't die, will you?" Freyd, The Whisper in Shadows | HP: 1110/1110 | EN: 92/108 | DMG:22 | MIT:99 | EVA:2 | ACC:4 | KEEN:1 | HLY:6 | BLD:36 | BH:22 Mari | HP 1490/1490 | EN: 146/146 | DMG: 19 | MIT: 43 | EVA:3 | ACC: 4 | BH: 72 | BRN: 24 |BLEED: 24 | FLAME AURA: 15 Fonsa | NPC (can sustain 3 hits) Galaxy Destroyer (x12 AoE + 8 for hits) = 20 EN – (Rested, Finesse 3) = 16 EN ID 168230: BD: 2 + 4 = 6 (hit). Freyd deals (264 - 20 = 244) damage to Crazed Beastman #1. ID 168231: BD: 5 + 4 = 9 (hit). Freyd deals (264 - 20 = 244) damage to Crazed Beastman #2. ID 168232: BD: 8 + 4 = 12 (hit). Freyd deals (264 - 20 = 244) damage to Crazed Beastman #3. ID 168233: BD: 2 + 4 = 6 (hit). Freyd deals (264 - 20 = 244) damage to Crazed Beastman #4. [H:1,0,1] Crazed Beastman #1 | HP: 56/300 | MIT 20 | DMG 85 (300 - 244) [H:1,0,1] Crazed Beastman #2 | HP: 56/300 | MIT 20 | DMG 85 (300 - 244) [H:1,0,1] Crazed Beastman #3 | HP: 56/300 | MIT 20 | DMG 85 (300 - 244) [H:1,0,1] Crazed Beastman #4 | HP: 56/300 | MIT 20 | DMG 85 (300 - 244) All Crazed Beastmen share the following abilities: <<Bloodthirst>> The Crazed Beastmen are returning to finish what they started. Fonsa will always have 1 Hate automatically generated for each Beastman. <<Crazed Swing>> On a MD roll of 9-10 the Crazed Beastman will swing wildly, hitting every party member, including Fonsa. (players take numerical damage, Fonsa takes 1 hit) This attacks Deal 100 damage to players.

"All that's here is death." She was right. “Look at them.” I pointed out dozens more forms, all lain in random directions. “This wasn’t expected. They weren’t fleeing or facing a known threat. It was sudden.” Climbing atop some nearby debris provided a better vantage. “It’s a radial effect, focused on that central tower.” My arm reached out, as if drawing the geometry on some cosmic white board. I find comfort in analytics. Raw factual data is easier input to process than the stuff put out by people - especially Mari. She’s a total jumble, that one, but I did kinda scramble her eggs. Hopefully, the results will be… better. Should I have consulted a chef first? Maybe next time. The touch of her hand felt... warm and soft? How could the nerve gear convey those sensations with such accuracy? My fingers flinched. It was actually all still new to me. I’d kept my distance from everything for so long, and certainly more so from people. What a fascinating sensation. "If she's here - she's not going to last long." It was hard to consider that anyone, even quest mobs, could have survived this. The implications of Mari’s tone made sense. “Agreed. When I spoke with the husband, I kept wondering how the quest would work if she was dead. Wouldn’t her body dissipate like all the rest? We may be on the clock here. But my guess is that we’ll find her corpse even if we miss the deadline - probably as some kind of quest-linked immortal object.” There. Clear, concise, deductive and logical. Why couldn’t all things be so simple? “He mentioned something about barracks near the Queen’s tower. I’m guessing he meant that.” I pointed up at the teetering ruin. “We should start with any location that might have offered any potential for shelter. The largest and densest ruins might be our best bet. Perhaps, a cellar or basement?”

Someone was, indeed standing right next to Oscar, but it couldn't possibly have been Freyd. The individual was wearing an oversized beige bucket hat, a pair of opaque black shades and a red hawaiian shirt with a white flower pattern. Everything beyond that was spooky black leather and stealth-stuff. Ecstatic cries could be heard from a vanity clothing and accessory merchant about twenty feet beyond, having likely made his first sale in ages, if not ever. "Salamander? Shit. I thought this was a fishing quest? I was really just hoping to kick back and take it easy for a bit." It was definitely Freyd, though Oscar could never have imagined the man dressed this way in a thousand years. It was as if someone had taken Giligan, Raoul Duke, Rango and Hawkeye Pierce, mixed them up in a blender, then splashed the resulting mush all over the man. It really didn't suit him, yet seemed absolutely perfect at the same time. Just to finish the ensemble, he lifted a frothy pinkish drink in a frosted glass and rimmed with something that looked like it was pretending to be coconut. He sipped away his passing frustration with a noisy slurp, artfully dodging the little paper umbrella that kept trying to spear him.