Azide

Yes, Sword Art Online is a death game. Yes, it has PVP, player-killing, orange players, etc. Yes, if your HP hits zero, your brain gets turned into a less palatable variation of a baked potato. 

That said, SAO obviously doesn't exist, because if it did most of us would probably be playing that instead of hanging out around here. This is SAO-RPG, a writing-based RP site. I would hope that it wouldn't be too much to ask of everyone to be able mentally separate in-universe lore from the meta mechanics that we use when role playing here. Just because something is possible in SAO/in-universe doesn't (and in my opinion, shouldn't,) mean that it needs to be an out-of-universe mechanic on SAO-RPG. 

Sleep PK was a thing in-universe, but would anybody think that it would be a reasonable idea to emulate that by allowing players to full-loss duel the characters of site members that're sleeping in real life? I would hope not. In-universe, you could unilaterally send people to prison through the use of crystals. Does anybody want to volunteer to have their character be restricted to a jail cell thread for an indefinite amount of time to simulate that? Should we ban the accounts of people who don't post at least once every hour in order to emulate the idea that there's no logging out of SAO? And why allow members whose characters have died to come back with a new character at all? We should just IP ban them and blacklist their e-mails and mac addresses, because otherwise I wouldn't be able to enjoy an authentic SAO RP experience.

Maybe I should also point out that the vast majority of RP's aren't set in video games, and so SAO is very much the norm when it comes to the whole "if you die, you die" thing. Coincidentally, the vast majority of RP's also don't allow for non-consensual PK-ing.

tl;dr SAO-RPG can either be a poor man's discount budget bargain bin text-based snail-paced mmorpg simulator with the user base of about 20-30 people, or it can be a story-based experience built on writing, creativity and imagination. Just because you personally aren't allowed to waltz up to Calrex and flail your arms around until he's a bloody pulp doesn't mean that the RP doesn't take place in a death game in-universe. 

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On another note, thread invasions as a mechanic is something I find incredibly unappealing. Yes, this is a collaborative writing site. No, that doesn't mean that I believe all threads should essentially be open to everyone. Unexpected entrances should be unexpected from an in-universe perspective only. The sort of people who would rather invade a thread without any warning over and strong-arm their way into the story don't strike me as the sort of people I'd be too excited to RP with. Honestly, I would much rather have my thread be "invaded" by someone reputable who'd inform me beforehand that their character would be making an appearance part-way through. Collaboration means just that: collaboration. That's a two-way street. Invading somebody else's thread isn't something I'd call collaboration. 

tl;dr How many people want k1r1t0, the Laughing Coffin's level 10 6-star general to invade their thread 30 posts in and harass everyone 150 words at a time, all while mechanics-based combat becomes temporarily disabled?

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in general tl;dr There's an awful lot of conflation between the in-universe SAO and the out-of-universe SAO-RPG, one of which is a fictional game and the other is the forum-based RP adaptation of said fictional game that we write on. There are things that don't work for us because of our medium/format, and because of that, the translation can't and shouldn't be 1:1. Rather,  it's in the site's best interests to implement things in a way would enhance the site from a writing perspective while avoiding things that would detract from that.

Play to the medium's strengths. Don't make decisions for the site as if it were a literal mmorpg.

In my opinion, it'd be against the long-term interests of the site to roll out a hard reset. Since a hard reset has never been implemented in this community, it's a little ambiguous with exactly how things would play out, but we can draw from how the community tends react to the sort of things that we might expect from some sort of reset or wipe.

First of all, a hard reset is essentially a more extreme version of a time-skip, at least balance-wise. The last time the question of a time-skip was raised, the number one reason that some people were averse to it was that they felt it was messing too much with their control over their character's narrative and development. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to say that resetting everybody's characters outright might be upsetting to this group of people.

The other reason why I think a hard reset would hurt is that it reminds me a little too much of the trend of veteran players getting bored and killing off their characters for a fresh start, then regretting it after figuring out that they hadn't actually addressed the actual reasons for their boredom with either the site or their character. 

I have a strong feeling that a hard reset actually would boost activity for a while because of the novelty factor, but that activity would also start tapering off at some point after that. Just think of all the players who essentially reset their RP experiences by either dying or by re-birthing their characters. There's precedent for people being enthusiastic about fresh starts, but there's also precedent for the novelty of fresh characters wearing off at some point. The problem is that once it wears off, there's now less tying you to the site than there was before, because you've already thrown the baby out with the bathwater.

My guy.

Whistle for the Choir

Scene Three, Part II

Meanwhile, as Azide was busy giving another one of his patented lectures, XWuZHeAR kept his eyes on the prize. Round and round went the wheel; its spherical counterpart sped along at an pace equally brisk, albeit in the opposite direction. As always, their momentum eventually slowed to a halt, dropping the roulette ball into its thirty-seven pockets.

 

“Well, damn. Would ya look at that?” XWuZHeAR slapped his hand against the table, turning yet another couple of heads towards their table. “Looks like ya boy just won another round.” Even as he wrung his hand out in the aftermath, the wryness of the boy’s grin continued to hold. “Hey, Azide, what were you rambling about just now?” he asked, not even turning to face the man. His eyes were instead caught up on savoring the sight of all of those precious, precious chips of his piled right there upon the table. “Sorry, it’s just hard to focus with all of this moola flying at me. You know how it is,” he added, rubbing his neck.

 

Xanatos’ head jerked back upon hearing the news. His mouth gaped open, and it looked as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. “Had it been once, then perhaps we could interpret his success as nothing more than a simple fluke. But twice? And with such confidence and clarity of resolve?” he spoke, his head clutched gingerly between his hands. The blond-haired man shook his head slowly, and as he reached for his ale, felt his fingers trembling against the heavy glass handle. Another gulp of the frothy mixture served to steady his nerves. By the time he was ready to speak again, he was nearly whispering. “I believe it’s well within reason, my brothers, for us to assume that we may be in the presence of lady destiny herself.” He dipped his head low.

 

“He’s got a point…” Fiddling around with an unwrapped straw, he eventually freed the plastic device from its equally plastic prison. “Man… what are the odds?” asked Crozeph, as he attempted to lift an ice cube from his glass, using straws in place of chopsticks.

 

“A touch below one-to-three,” said Azide, frowning as he shifted his sights between his three companions. “And I can’t believe I even have to ask, but are you guys really prepared to accept that a result with a twenty-something percent chance of happening was somehow influenced by magical mumbo-jumbo?”

 

A snap of fingers, shifting quickly into a pointing hand. That hand pointed directly at XWuZHeAR, the player to whom it belonged. “Nah, it’s definitely all me.” The boy motioned back to the roulette wheel with a flick of his chin. “Also, just for the record, I’m now officially three-for-three,” he said, raising a shot glass to the air. A smirk plastered across his lips, he glanced at Azide sidelong. “You starting to sweat over there, buddy?”

 

Off the top of his head, ‘bad’ was the first thing to come to mind if he had to describe the taste of the vile concoction.

 

“You’re looking at about a five percent chance of pulling off a four-for-four. The pile sitting right there on that table happens to be all the money you’ve got to your name,” said Azide. In spite of his best efforts, he felt relatively sure that his mouth was still twitching. His face had become all too familiar with the scrunches that came with every sip of the foul wine. But he’d already paid for the bottle, and he couldn’t just toss it. With the end finally in sight, he emptied the remainder into his glass. “You’d better pray that your tears are gonna be enough to wash down those bread rations you’ll be eating for the next couple of months.”

 

“Hmm... it’s landed on black three times in a row... I’d have to be pretty stupid to go for it again…” muttered XWuZHeAR. He knocked his knuckles gently against his temple. “Damn it, I’m just gonna pull the trigger.” His eyes closed as downed his shot in a single gulp. “Put it all on red.”

 

“Staticians across the world are rolling in their graves right now,” said Azide. He braced himself as he prepared to finish off his own drink. On the bright side, it’d been one of the cheapest lessons he’d paid for in his life.

 

Having surrendered in his struggles against the ice cube, Crozeph instead began to rock lightly back and forth in his seat as he looked around the room. “Huh, I just had a thought…” The boy straightened himself up. “Azide’s got a point. Or, uh, he would- but we’re in a virtual world, yeah?” His fingers wove their way into his hair, and he held them there for a moment longer. “So maybe X keeps winning because there’s a glitch in the system… or something like that.”

 

“If that truly is the case, then it would only be fair,” said Xanatos, nodding. “Kayaba cheated us from the moment we first set foot into this forsaken place. Would cheating him back not be a small victory for the good people of Aincrad? Would it not be a taste of justice for those who so desperately crave it?”

 

Azide dabbed at his lip with a loose handkerchief, and as he pushed aside his wineless glass, found himself nearly smiling. “Maybe it’s the cheap alcohol talking, but I swear that for a moment, neither of those things sounded quite as ridiculous as they should’ve.” But sure enough, the fledgling smile faded as the young man shook his head. “On second thought, I’m mostly just talking about Crozeph. No offense,” he continued. “Of course, it still sounds incredibly far-fetched. But I suppose there’s always that miniscule chance that you may be onto something.”

 

“Might be patched out at any time,” said Crozeph, biting the end of his thumb. “If it ends up being a glitch, I mean.” The boy shrugged. “Could be months. Maybe a couple hours. Hard to say.”

 

“Crozeph is right,” said Xanatos. He stood up tall, but not quite so straight- the young man swayed from side to side with every couple of syllables. “This may very well be the sort of opportunity that only presents itself once in a lifetime. How could we live with ourselves knowing that we were too meak, too timid to make this leap of faith?” Xanatos thumped his chest, continuing to belt out his words with a tenacity matching that of a Broadway regular. “That our apprehension kept us from dipping so much as a single toe into the ocean of possibilities? Could we ever look each other in the eyes again?” He leaned forward, clutching his chest and looking a bit short of breath. “Look into your heart of heart, my friends. At junctures such as this, men must be bold,” said Xanatos, looking now to Azide.

Arms crossed, Azide tapped his fingers against the sleeve of his jacket. “My brain is screaming ‘no’, but I think I’d be lying if I said that my heart was in exactly the same place.” He looked up from the table and sighed. “Frankly, I don’t think it can be overstated how much of a longshot that theory is. I mean, how many oversights have any of us discovered these past few years?” He shook his head for what felt like the millionth time that night. “And don’t even get me started on how insane it is to base all of this off of a grand total of three trials. But you know what?” A wave of his hand pulled up the shimmering interface of Sword Art Online. “Screw it. I think I’m willing to take my chances. Just this once.” He tapped at one of the options available to him, then placed both hands on the table as he looked to the dealer. “Five grand on black.”

 

---

 

A vignette featuring Azide, @Crozeph, @Xanatos and @XWuZHeAR, set sometime before the events of the Floor 14 Boss Battle.

 

For the anniversary of its opening, the Town of Beginning's very own Starlight Cafe has decided to once again celebrate alongside its loyal patrons.

For one night only, the cafe has decided to re-skin itself as a casino- with all of the expected embellishments. Banter and hi-jinx ensue.

 

Azide's Journal | Crozeph's Journal | Xanatos' Journal | XWuZHeAR's Journal

Whistle for the Choir

Scene Three, Part I

“I’m telling you guys, these games are literally rigged. I mean, people use that word pretty loosely nowadays, but this is one of those times where I literally mean literally,” said Azide. His eyes remained glued to the table even as he raised his glass to his lips. He fought back a shudder as the cold liquid assaulted his taste buds. In hindsight, wine probably wasn’t the best thing to skimp out on.

Arms placed coolly behind his head, XWuZHeAR leaned back in his chair. The boy’s eyes were half open at best as the spinning wheel and its ivory-colored ball began to slow. A puff of air blew past his lips: a not-so-successful attempt at displacing a rogue strand of hair from his face. Finally, the ball rolled into place with a soft plink. His eyes widened as he processed the spin’s result, a wry smile taking shape at the fringes of his lips. “Oh really?” he asked. “Then I guess I didn’t literally double my money just now?”

 

“It was closer to a fifty percent profit…” said Crozeph, his eyes darting quickly between the table and the pages of a small journal splayed open in front of him. The slender pen between his fingers clicked once as he lifted it from the paper and into his pocket. “...not that anyone’s, uh, counting,” he added, closing the notebook as discreetly as he could manage.

 

Hearty laughter, no doubt drawing in a few eyes from uninvolved parties, seized the room momentarily before ending as abruptly as it’d begun. “Counting is not so important, my friends,” said Xanatos. He punctuated the point with a slam of his mug against the table, sending more than a few golden droplets into the air. “At least, not with one’s brain. No, not even with one’s fingers,” he continued, accentuating his hands with every declaration. “Gentleman, sometimes, in the heat of the moment- all that truly counts…” He whipped his head left and right before centering it once more. “...is one’s heart.”

 

Azide mouthed a silent apology to the dealer, who was giving the eye to a certain hopelessly oblivious friend of his. “Sounds like someone’s had enough drinks for the night. But hey, who’s counting?” He swirled the scarlet wine in his glass, then downed another mouthful while retaining full eye contact with the three stooges to his left. His frown only deepened once the taste had settled. “Look, unless you’re planning on calling it quits, I don’t care if you doubled, tripled or quadrupled your money. The house isn’t exactly known for being a generous benefactor.”

 

XWuZHeAR rolled his eyes. “Pffft.” He leaned forward, so that his upper half now leaned over the felt-covered table, the edge of which he now rested his arms upon. “My momma sure as hell didn’t raise no quitter,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Yo, dealer guy! You know the drill. Throw it back on black. And make it snappy, alright? I’m playing hot right now. Gotta keep that fire rolling.”

 

“She definitely didn’t teach you when to quit, I’ll give you that,” said Azide. The young man tapped his fingers against the tabletop in rhythmic repetition before eventually planting down his elbow. He leaned the side of his head against his first, the fingers of his opposite hand now ceasing their motions. Instead, they produced a single coin. “Fun fact for you: your odds here are literally worse than a flip of a coin.” The col piece shimmered as it spun in the air.

 

Immediately, Crozeph leaned further over the table and craned his neck to get a better look. “Heads,” called the boy, his voice carrying no signs of hesitation whatsoever.

 

The airborne coin quickly struck the table, and after bouncing thrice, rolled precariously along its edge before deciding to settle down. Azide covered the face of the coin with the flat of his hand. “Lucky guess,” he muttered.

 

---

A vignette featuring Azide, @Crozeph, @Xanatos and @XWuZHeAR, set sometime before the events of the Floor 14 Boss Battle.

 

For the anniversary of its opening, the Town of Beginning's very own Starlight Cafe has decided to once again celebrate alongside its loyal patrons.

For one night only, the cafe has decided to re-skin itself as a casino- with all of the expected embellishments. Banter and hi-jinx ensue.

 

Azide's Journal | Crozeph's Journal | Xanatos' Journal | XWuZHeAR's Journal

1x1 Arts are a total 1x multiplier, so yes, you're essentially gonna end up with base damage. Most of the 1x1 SA's are just for flavor, although a few of them happen to come with AoE or Stun effects, which would make them occasionally a bit more useful.

Off the top of my head, I can think of one niche situation where you'd have a reason to use a vanilla 1x1 Sword Art over a generic non-SA attack. If you happened to invest in the rank one Skill Mod, Ferocity, it would increase the damage multiplier for all of your rank one Arts (including the 1x1) for no extra energy cost.

But if you stick around for a bit longer, it's probably a better idea in the long run not to go that route, haha. You'll definitely get more value out of your SP if you hold onto it for later, since those rank one Sword Arts are gonna end up becoming pretty impractical later on.

Whistle for the Choir

Scene Two

“It’s getting pretty late,” said Azide. He found himself dragging his eyes away from the horizon and towards his wrist. It was distinctly bare. But of course it was; throughout this entire ordeal, he’d continued to put off commissioning a proper watch. It’d been years now since he’d last worn one. He tapped a finger to his wrist, then repeated the motion twice more. Old habits died hard, he supposed.

 

“What gives you that idea?” asked Rebekah. As usual, her attention remained trained on whatever lay ahead. And the closest thing he could relate her cadence to was that it resembled how a robot might speak if its emotion modules had yet to be fully installed.

 

“Well, for one thing, I can’t see my shoes.” As if on cue, he stumbled as his foot caught the side of a twisted, outstretched root. At least, he thought it was a root- it was kind of hard to be sure.

 

“Then look down,” she offered. A whoosh punctuated her words as her blade came alive in the air. Within a few quick strokes, Laevateinn had made short work of both brambles and branches alike, clearing the way for a forward path.

 

The elegant, slender weapon no doubt made for a much more effective weed whacker than his own little dagger. Azide bowed his head as the two of them passed through the thicket, muttering to himself as a couple of stray briars still managed to find areas of exposed skin. “Oh, shut up,” he said, rubbing his neck. “Come on, I’m serious- it’s darker than something really dark right now. I can guarantee you that we’re not finding anything anytime soon.”

 

A downward draft swept down into the glade which they had entered, sending ancient limbs into rhythmic a sway. Under the veil of night, it was hard to say for sure- but the surrounding trees bore a heavy resemblance to oaks. Whatever they were, they must’ve ached; creaks and groans were in no short supply among the burly elders.

 

Rebekah scanned the meadow for any signs of trouble, but found nothing particularly alarming. With the moonlight so sparse, all she could spot could be summed up as grass, stumps, logs and trees- all very normal sights, considering their location. “We’ll stop here for the night,” she said as she turned around. She stopped to pluck a stray leaf from her hair. “But tomorrow we’re leaving early.” The girl opened her palm, watching as the leaf returned to the breeze. It drifted slowly away, until nighttime at last claimed the final remnants of its form.

 

Flickers of light bathed the meadow in hues of gold and scarlet, the smoky flames dancing to an hour-or-so long tune. Azide twirled the freshly-lit torch in his hand as made his way to the base of a wide tree stump. He took a seat atop the cool, flat surface, appreciating the reprieve from their hours of foot travel. “So, just out of curiosity.” With his free hand, he initiated a trade request with the girl across from him. “What exactly qualifies as ‘early’ for you?”

 

A dimly-lit screen blinked into view about a foot away from Rebekah’s face. She pressed a finger to the panel, accepting the handful of torches with a nod in the other player’s direction. “Eight o’clock in the morning.”

 

First came a furrowing of brows, followed soon after by an upturn of the lips. “You’re kidding, right? Back home, my mates and I call that sleeping in,” said Azide.

 

“Okay, then make that seven o’clock,” said the girl, without missing a beat. A red glow enveloped the steel of her blade and she maneuvered its edge through a couple of low-hanging branches as though they were butter. With a series of thuds, several sections of timber fell to the ground.

 

“Make it six and we might be getting somewhere,” answered Azide, stroking his chin.

 

“Five.”

 

“Welcome to my world,” he said, with a yawn. Azide balled his hands and raised his arms in an skyward stretch. “Now if you think you’re ready for it, how about we make it an even four?”

 

“Four it is,” said Rebekah. She’d looked him straight in the eye with her characteristic unwavering expression before crouching down. Another press of her finger sorted the wooden debris into an arrangement more appropriate for a campfire.

 

Azide formed an ‘okay’ symbol with his hand, grinning all the while. “Perfect. Just in time to be early for the sunrise.” He tossed the burning torch back and forth between his hands as if it were a hot potato. “By the way, I should probably point out that we’re ages away from any safe zones right now.” He craned his neck around just to make sure that they were still in the middle of nowhere, before looking back to the girl. “And seeing as I’d rather not be murdered in my sleep, how would you like to go about handling that?”

 

Taking a moment to ponder, Rebekah stood up. “We’ll sleep in shifts,” said the girl. With a few practiced movements, she produced in her spare hand a torch of her own.

 

“That sounds all fine and dandy, but how do I know that you won’t be the one to do it?” he asked, aiming the light in the rapier-user’s direction.

 

“You don’t.” Her face flickered in the glow of the crackling flames. Her features became just a touch more obscured as she moved the torch away from her face and over their soon-to-be campfire. “I’ll take the first shift.”

 

There was something to be said about Rebekah’s deadpan delivery. But he couldn’t help but snicker at her implied threat. “Knock yourself out. But just so you know,” He planted the end of his torch into a patch of dirt in front of him. “I’ll be sleeping with one eye open tonight.”

“You’ve got about three hours. Better make use of it.” She released the torch from her hand, setting the wooden pile ablaze.

 

---

 

A vignette featuring Azide and @Rebekah, set sometime before the events of the Floor 14 Boss Battle. 

 

A previously un-encountered NPC has revealed itself to Aincrad, bringing with it a new quest: a multi-floor scavenger hunt.

The catch? Only the first party to complete the hunt will be awarded. Banter and hi-jinx ensue.

 

Azide's Journal | Rebekah's Journal

Whistle for the Choir

Scene One

“Hey, uh, it’s not that I’m questioning your judgement or anything- but did we really have to cut through that underground tunnel back there?” asked Azide. He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb, but his eyes remained steady on the young woman beside him.

It was a little odd, but as far as he could remember, he’d never seen Rebekah smiling. In fact, he could hardly remember her emoting much of anything at all. Not overtly, at least. Placid eyes and untelling lips were constants in the girl’s expression.

 

“We’re going to have to stay on track one way or another,” said Rebekah. She’d spoken them with in her usual, level tone. It was the sort of delivery that the uninitiated might be prone to interpreting as cold, indifferent or even outright disdainful. She hadn’t even turned to face him as she’d answered him. Just kept right on walking.

 

Over time, he’d learned to recognize that none of this was born from any personal misgivings. Probably. Maybe.

 

“No, I get you.” He threw up both hands before himself, so that his palms appeared as though they’d pressed flat against some invisible wall. “I love schedules as much as the next dozen guys combined, don’t get me wrong. But I guess what I really meant to say was that if I get mobbed by any more Mole-Miners, I’m gonna be pretty upset.”

 

This time, Rebekah gave a slight turn of her head as she replied. “Maybe we could’ve afforded to take the mountain trail if somebody had spent a little more time reading the quest info.”

 

On one hand, she was finally making eye contact- which was nice. If nothing else, it made hand gestures feel a little less frivolous. On the other hand, her choice of tone hadn’t exactly gone over his head. She was definitely still peeved. Maybe. Probably.

 

Bold actions called for bold responses, and naturally, Azide decided to commit to the boldest option available. He looked away. Honestly, that look was kind of intimidating. “Now you listen here,” he started. He could feel his fingers fidgeting a little inside of his pockets. “Speed reading was good enough for uni, and it’s good enough for this goddang game. If you don’t believe me, there are plenty of studies out there showing how efficient it is.”

 

“We spent five hours looking for ‘a corn top’.”

 

“I swear there was a space or something there earlier,” said Azide. He crossed his arms, feeling a distinct twitching sensation coming from his eyes. “Ugh, this whole scavenger hunt thing is rigged. But let’s be reasonable here: ‘acorn top’, ‘a corn top’? Come on, that’s the sort of mistake anyone could’ve made.”

 

“Once, maybe.”

 

“Granted, it did take me a couple of times, but-”

 

“I don’t even know how you managed to get into that school.”

 

“Dad had lots of money, for your information. But I’m gonna swallow my pride here and pretend like I’m too dull to understand what you’re getting at,” shot Azide, turning his attention back to his former guildmate. For a short while, they continued their semi-brisk pace forward in silence. As usual, Rebekah seemed perfectly comfortable with the quietness of it all.

 

Around them lay a luscious greenery mottled with shades of cedar, mahogany and oak, stretching far into the distance. Earthy scents of pine and fertile soil mixed in the air with traces of a lingering yesterday rain; it brought back all sorts of memories: good, bad and everything in between. But memories were memories all the same.

 

Azide cleared his throat. A brief pause came as his eyes rolled up and away, racking his brain for the least painful combination of words. “Look, I’m just gonna put it out there. I might be just a teensy bit claustrophobic," He touched his index finger to his thumb, forming a circle for emphasis. “And those mole guys literally have pickaxes for hands. So no more subterranean tunnels. Please?”

 

This time, Rebekah initiated a pause of her own. After taking a few steps further, she stopped. She turned around and gave a nod of her head. “Only because you asked nicely. But I’m taking over reading duties.” It’d be a stretch to claim that she was smiling; make no mistake, the look on her face was about as stone cold and neutral as ever. But would it be beyond reason to say that there was something there? Maybe not. Probably not.

 

“You drive a hard bargain.” Azide furrowed his eye and touched a closed fist to his chin. If the gesture hadn’t been so cursory, it might’ve looked as if his contemplation were serious. “But I’ll humor you.” He shrugged. “I’ll save the speed reading for a more appreciative audience.”

 

She seemed receptive enough towards his sentiment- at least, in her own way. True to her reputation, she responded not with words, but with a deadpan double thumbs-up. The wordless gesture was followed by yet another: the girl motioned to the horizon with a turn of her chin before resuming her prior pace. Getting the message, he followed suit.

 

“By the way,” said Azide, having caught up. “That thing about my dad having money? That was just banter- I was actually accepted because of my unimaginable intelligence.”

 

“Unimaginable is a good way to put it.”

 

“Hey, I said that I would be humoring you.”

“You had it coming,” said Rebekah. She stole an upward glance of the sky, managing to catch sight of the purples, yellows, oranges and reds of a waning day. The sprawling canopy above was thick, but sunsets were unmistakable. It’d be getting dark before long. “Let’s pick up the pace,” she added, with a bit more spring in her step.

 

"Whatever you say, boss."

 

And so they did.

 

---

 

A vignette featuring Azide and @Rebekah, set sometime before the events of the Floor 14 Boss Battle. 

 

A previously un-encountered NPC has revealed itself to Aincrad, bringing with it a new quest: a multi-floor scavenger hunt.

The catch? Only the first party to complete the hunt will be awarded. Banter and hi-jinx ensue.

 

Azide's Journal | Rebekah's Journal

Light crumbled away as far as the eye could see, like a forgotten palace of sand. From where he stood, the whole world seemed to recede at an alarming, impossible rate. The whole scene felt reminiscent of the old "breaking bridge" cliche he'd seen played out in a number of movies, most of which had been worth a considerably lesser amount of laughs. But that was fine by him- this was hardly the time or place for a live studio audience. This was death: a rather personal thing, no matter how thoroughly it flaunted itself to the masses. And if they truly wished to laugh, then that was no skin off his nose- but they'd do it on their own time; this was a moment all his own. 

It hadn't been the first time, but it seemed safe to say it'd be his last: the boy found himself at a loss for words. In the heat of the moment, every little sentiment felt trivial, and at the same time, essential. His lips were but two humble gates- only so much could pass through them at once without jamming them up altogether. They creaked open, seemingly of their own accord, but when the time came to speak, all he could find was a dryness in his mouth and a lump in his throat. 

To tell the truth, he wished he'd had a few parting words ready to go. Witty, poignant or even scathing... the particulars weren't too important, as unintuitive as that might seem. So long as they were memorable. 

The boy blinked slowly, a dull ache in his eyes throbbing with every dart and roll. Red, blue, and green- each hue bled together, as if some trickster had come along and plucked from the world every outline and border. Freed from their confines, the colors poured themselves from the world, flowing off to somewhere far and away. Aincrad was graying right before him, and he shuddered at the realization.

Icy eyes, his own, glistened with a colorless sheen. For what it was worth, he figured it might be blood or sweat, or perhaps it'd simply begun to rain. Considering the circumstances at hand, there was really no way to be sure.

Through the glassy veil, he stared at the young man standing before him, keeping as straight of a face as he could manage with a blade lodged in him. Even then, he had the feeling that the look in his own eyes gave away a little more than he'd care to share. A fair amount of confusion and a hint of anger- but for the most part, it was disappointment which took home the lion's share. Just the thought of that look brought forth some rather unpleasant memories. His fingers tensed around the grips of his twin blades, a phantom frown tugging at the corner of his lip.

For a brief moment, he could feel those emotions manifesting within his hands- a pair of tightly curled fists, they shook violently, a sword buried stubbornly within each, as if he were strangling them. He refused to go out that way- full of vitriol and hate to the bitter end. Not like his old man. Never like him.

He winced, and tensed on instinct as the cold steel was ripped unceremoniously from his flesh. He watched as the young man- his former friend and ally- turned tail and walked off without so much as a backward glance. Though the gleaming blade had retained its spotless edge, blood had not failed to stain something today.

With little left to be said or done, the boy shuffled slowly forward, until he came to a halt before the massive double doors for which they'd arrived. Laying the flat of his palm against the heavy wood, he eased the structure open and aimed a quick glance to the bar hovering at the corner of his vision.

How much further would he have come? And had he found a home for himself in this world- just for a moment? And then there was Kiru... 

Kiru, Kiru, Kiru.

A slight shake of his head. Time was running out- and he would allow no one here today the pleasure of seeing him die. And so he stepped forward into the darkness, letting the ancient gates slam shut behind him. 

Darkness, followed in lockstep by more of the same. Raising his sleeve, he dabbed at his eyes as the final slivers of the bar subsided.

~

Pale light seeped in through the lids of his eyes, stirring him from what'd seemed like a dreamless sleep. Still heavy with the lethargy of slumber, he forced them to flutter open. Even before he'd had the chance to fully take in his surroundings, it hadn't slipped past him that something about all of this was incredibly odd. But the further he examined the scene, the more and more confusing the matter became. Red, red and more red- the same color all around, accented by tones of gold and a few touches of lavender. He lifted himself from the carpeted ground, which itself was dyed a rich shade of crimson, and stared at his fingers as they flexed inwardly ever-so-carefully.

After two long years, had he finally made his escape? He almost didn't dare to check. But in the end, he glanced over to the edge of his sight, his lungs making hostages of the air within them all the while.

"No way," came a voice. "Zelrius?"

The boy whipped the entirety of his body around on command, his eyes widening as he struggled to make sense of the sight. It was a man, perched rather comfortably upon a throne which towered at the front of the chamber. Cedar brown hair which swept past a pair of sharp eyes and a jacket as green as any pine- he knew this man. Frankly, he wasn't quite sure what to make of it; perhaps that drink back there had been a little stronger than what he'd expected.

For a while, the brunette rubbed at his chin, eyeing the golden-haired boy as if he'd just discovered another piece in an already-finished jigsaw puzzle. Finally, he rolled his hands and shoulders into shrug. His lips twitched, quickly taking the form of an infectious smile. "You didn't really think you were finished just yet, did you?" asked Azide, delivering the words with a slight turn of his head. "Sorry," he continued, his fingers drumming softly against the golden railings of the throne. "But I get the feeling that you're not all that disappointed."

~

To be continued.

Barring some major reforms to the site's staffing situation, I have no current plans to return with another character- SP incentive or not. Granted, with the newly elected council, we may or may not see that level of change.

That being said, this is something that both Takao and I had proposed ages ago- back when the last major deaths had been Alkor and Rue, both of whom had been inactive for months by the time their characters' hitpoints hit zero. The fact that it took Zel and Dom's deaths, as well as my own, to spark this discussion reminds me of a certain point that Takao brought up recently: the staff has almost always taken a reactive approach, rather than a proactive one. I don't expect them to be perfect, or to have flawless foresight, but it does lend to the idea that certain higher-ranking members of the staff have given a disproportionate amount of priority to mechanics that benefit their own interest- as opposed to those that might benefit the community as a whole.

That sphiel probably sounds like a completely off-topic ramble- it sort of was. But it does support my central point; SP retainment as a mechanic is meant for the writers of the community, and not the characters themselves. Therefore, we should explore the implications of such a mechanic from an OOC perspective, rather than from the old game-design perspective of chasing some sort of "balance".

What is SP?

1) Progress - SP represents the work you've put into your character, acting as an indirect surrogate for post count. It's time spent on this site and time spent thinking, feeling and living that character. Zel's 200+ SP represents more than just his threat level in-universe- for over two years, he was Zelrius. Because of a single thread, two-hundred SP and two years of progress have been taken away from him in an instant. Sure, he could start over with a new character- but that leads into the next issue.

2) Relevance - Let's be honest- on SAO-RPG, your relevance is almost directly proportional to your SP. No matter how good your writing is, the actions of a 5 SP player are going to have almost neglible consequence, just because of the numbers-based system alone. Without the proper amount of SP, your character becomes inconsequential, especially in any larger topics. Nobody is going to take a level 10 PK-er seriously, and a player like that is limited to working outside of combat when it comes to generating drama or conflict. Unfortunately for them, this is Sword Art Online, and combat is the name of the game. SP allows you the potential for combat, whether it be against floor bosses or other players. Without it, have fun killing Frenzy Boars and walking around with people who'll one-shot all of your conflicts for you.

3) Balance - At its heart, SP is here to keep us all honest. After all, we can't have everyone walking around killing Gleam Eyes, and so we regulate how strong each of us is allowed to be in a way that's both fair and unbiased. The idea is that the more time you spend writing here (i.e., the more completed RP's you have), the stronger your character is allowed to be (i.e., the more SP your character is allotted). SP incentivizes dedication and those who practice it.

So what do we take away from all of this? 

The way I see it, a writer whose character has died has been stripped of both their progress, as well as their in-universe relevance. Not only have they lost their investment in their character  (i.e., the personality, development, relationships and stories of that character), but they've also lost their investment into the site as a player. They've lost their progress- what they've worked for, and measured their development by. They've lost the opportunities they were afforded as a high SP character, with the option of creating an alt for whatever lower-level plotlines they might've had in mind. Instead, they're relegated only to the latter road.

 Again, SP as a mechanic is convenient, because it can be acknowledge in-universe due to Sword Art Online's setting. But what it really is, is a reward for those who've dedicated themselves to this site, as well as a neutral balancing mechanic that prevents a bunch of over-powered characters from running around. So am I proposing that we get rid of player deaths?

No. Player deaths are essential to the theme and feel of SAO. But as a writing website, losing a character that we've spent so much time on is rough enough as it is, and will deter the vast majority of people from randomly discarding months of work at the drop of a hat. We should punish the character for dying, and not the writer- we want to keep those, after all. It'd be reckless and shortsighted for the staff not to implement some sort of member retainment mechanic.

It's not game-breaking, because these members have already earned the right to have all of these things. They've proven themselves dedicated, worked for it and separated themselves from all of those who've come and gone. The primary issues I've considered are these:

1) SP retainment encourages character abandonment/ character hopping. Essentially, the worry is that players might constantly kill off their characters a few months in out of boredom, since the OOC consequences have been lowered. Presumably, that'd be undesirable because it'd undermine character relationships, development and long-running plot-lines. On the other hand, I feel like much of this would be mitigated by the permanent loss of characters alone, and that subsidizing character deaths might actually breathe life into the writers who've either grown bored of their characters or outgrown them to the point of losing interest in the site altogether.
 

2) SP retainment encourages more player-killing. So basically, the worry here is that, at the moment, rampant PK-ing is being kept in check mostly because would-be PK-ers are afraid of being PK'd themselves (or, in actuality, losing all of their SP and everything that would entail). A relevant counterpoint is that SP retainment would also benefit the victims of PK-ers as well, though many might consider it undesirable to lose their characters even then. Personally, I think the best solution to this would to revise and revisit PK-ing mechanics altogether, so that a few bad apples don't spoil the bushel, so to speak.

A partial solution to both of these problems would be to enact an percentage-based transfer of SP. Personally, my preference is a combination of any arbitrary percent along with any arbitrary static penalty. For demonstrative purposes, let's say we were to choose 50% and SP -50. Under this sort of system, you'd take the SP of your deceased character and halve it, then compare that value to SP -50. You'd then be able to apply the higher of the two values to your replacement character. The reason I prefer this hybrid sort of approach is because losing 50% of your SP takes you out of the frontlines for increasingly longer periods of time as we progress further and further. Losing 50% when you have 50 SP is a lot different than losing 50% of 500 SP, for example.

tl;dr This is an RP site and a writing community, not an actual death game- don't kill off your community for no reason. Taking away SP punishes writers harder than it punishes players, and character deaths are already inherently punishing on an RP site. RP retainment isn't unbalanced or unfair, because these writers have already put in the time, and the SP transfer is 1 for 1. Don't use either a percentage-based rate or a static penalty alone. Revise PK-ing mechanics.

tl;dr tl;dr Staff is here for the community. Full SP loss is anti-community. Please revise.

 

Takao all the way.

Everyone on the team is on the same page here- this event is unlikely to roll out for the foreseeable future.

Basically how the system works is that you level up through the means of SP (Skill Points), SP being gained through the completion of RP threads.

Every thread will net you at least 1 SP, with quests giving you additional SP (the amount depends on the quest) on top of that. At various SP checkpoints/benchmarks, you gain a level, increases both your HP and your energy. After you reach certain level benchmarks/checkpoints, you gain access to higher tiers of equipment/items with increased enhancement capabilities. 

The bulk of how you actually increase your stats is done through investing your SP into stat-increasing skills, as well as acquiring stat-increasing equipment.

If you wanna get better at writing in english, it's definitely more helpful for you to practice it, rather than putting it off because you feel as if you're not good enough at the moment. Take the first step, and everything that follows will come naturally. It's always easier to improve when you're enjoying what you do, and I think that if you've come here again, it's because you'd like to roleplay in the SAO universe.

Best of luck. Also, if you're looking for RP partners, just post a status or a topic in the Out of Character section- you'll be sure to get some replies.

Azide's Farewell

It was easy math. Seventy-five the first time, fifty the second. Zero mitigation. 

Tawny eyes flicked over to glance at the meager bar, which had since faded from a healthy green to a sickly yellow. Or maybe he was reading into it too deeply. Admittedly, he was hardly neutral towards these colors; green had always been his color. But even so, the number seated beside that frail sliver was not nearly as subjective. After all, one could hardly argue something as blatant as numbers alone. Forty-three was forty three; it was seven less than fifty, twenty-two less than seventy-five. 

It was easy math, and he wished it'd been harder.

A certain dread lingered within his mind, circling his thoughts in seeming perpetuity like buzzards drawn to an easy meal. As soon as he stopped thinking, they'd come swooping down for the kill- and that was something he just wasn't quite ready to accept.

The frantic pounding of his fists lessened with every pointless blow, until it ceased altogether. His lungs claimed a ragged breath as he turned his sights to the sky once more. Grey, cloudy, and lifeless- it was a pitiful sight. Days like this were meant for rain, and yet even now, a single drop of sympathy seemed to exist somewhere beyond reach and reason. 

He bit his tongue as the creature tightened its grip, sinking its claws more deeply into his flesh. He swore he could taste blood in the air. With a shake of his head, teeth gritted in bitter defiance, he drove back the lingering dread once more. It wasn't time yet- there was still so much more.

There were still meetings to be planned, floors to be cleared, quests to be done... It was still too soon. 

Another shot of espresso at the Starlight Cafe, reading up on all the knowledge this world had to offer- searching for an end to all of this madness.

A steaming mug of coco, curled up somewhere toasty on the frozen floors of the fourth, basking in the serenity of the snow-covered scene. Maybe he'd even ask the young lady at the cafe to join him for the evening. He wondered if she'd ever caught on, that girl. But it seemed unlikely- Rebekah had always been rather aloof. Pain seared in his sides yet again as the winged creature shifted its hold, but he bore it even still, and took a deep breath. 

It was settled- as soon as they got out of here, he'd send the blonde a message and treat her to something nice. She'd done a great deal for him that day, back in the snowy glade- even if she hadn't known it. But he supposed he'd be lying if he were to claim that as his only motivation.

And not only that- he'd finally ask the Calrex about joining the Spectrum Coalition, so that they might finally unite the front-lines and make some real progress. And now that Oikawa was back, he could even look towards re-establishing Square One. He'd send Takao a gift basket for saving his life back on floor nine, and give Opal a better apology than the one he'd left her with. He'd greet the man Baldur, who'd returned after more than a year away, and scour every last floor out there until he found that old dog Xanatos. 

There was so much catching up to do- so much to be done. And he'd do it all- he really would. He'd do all of that and more- just as soon as all of this came to an end.

The talons of the avian went slack, plunging the young man into a sudden free-fall. Sights set on the swirling grey above, he sighed. There was no use denying it any longer. Azide closed his eyes as a glistening streak trailed across his cheek, and he wondered if perhaps the sky had shed a single drop of sympathy after all.

Before he even struck the ground, a heavy rush of air swallowed him entirely. Just like that, forty-three turned to zero, and Azide was no more.

For all of their kites, copters and planes, never had mankind been able to wrest the skies from the birds. In the land of the blind, even the one-eyed man was king; in the sky, a mere man such as himself was as good as blind. The enemy, on the other hand, was eagle-eyed: a beast who sighted and struck with neither thought nor consideration. In the air, Rohk reigned supreme, and seemed all-too-aware of the fact. For a creature with less than a quarter of its initial health, the hovering avian looked awfully haughty even now. A sneering, curled beak, and a pair of sunken eyes that glared. Every downward beat of its weathered winds seemed to be just begging for a challenge.

Then again, who was he to speak? Just moments before, he himself had fallen to a measly twenty-three points of health. It was almost funny- that he himself had foreseen all of this: a boss that would finally break the mold, and bring fear back to the bunch that had lost it all too early. It was he who'd pleaded for the regular use of safeguards- it was he who could defend a claim as one of Aincrad's longest-lived alchemists.

The corners of his lips twitched, bringing to his face a pale, bitter smile. He flexed his fingers, curling them inward one by one in methodical succession, before allowing them tighten undeterred. It was he who'd been too stubborn, too aloof and unbothered. He'd been too reckless, and hopelessly so. Why hadn't he bothered to craft so much as a single safeguard in these past few months?

He could feel his fist trembling. If he'd been made of tin rather than flesh, it'd probably be rattling something fierce. But he shook his head and stowed his dagger. With a quick swipe of his arm, he materialized within his hand a single glowing crystal. Perhaps he didn't have invincibility at his fingertips- but at the very least, it wasn't beyond him to weather the storm all the same.

A woosh of air as something struck him from above- as he felt its talons sink into him, his mind raced, wondering how he'd allowed himself to be caught so flat-footed. The air was knocked from his lungs, and his eyes widened as a gleaming object plummeted towards the ground. Desperately, the young man shot a hand outward as he realized what had happened. His eyes widening, he pounded at the beast's scaly talons as they carried him far and away.

In this airy domain, Rohk was king- and he, not even a pawn.

ID: 50261
BD: 6 + 3 (Equipment + Precision) - 4 (Evasion) + 1 (Concentration) = 6 (Hit)

<<Eternal Cyclone>> used:

[16 + 1 (Ferocity)] x [12 (Base) + 5 (Charge)] = 289 (RAW)

289 - 80 (MIT) = 209 DMG

Amazingly, the winged beast had managed the impossible; not only had Rohk survived an entire rotation of relentless bombardment, but it'd continued to stand tall even in the face of another round.

Squawks, screeches and caws tore at the drums of his ears- every shrill shriek only began to sound more and more like cackles than the vocalizations of some mindless beast. Perhaps it was all just in his head, but throughout the fight, it'd seemed as if some semblance of intelligence had gleamed somewhere deep within the creature's eyes- the way it seemed to mock them upon every slip-up and miss. Even now, its beak was bent in a perpetual sneer. Admittedly, all that was missing from their rather emotive enemy was a few tears now and then between all the shells that they'd smashed.

From left to right, he swept the battlefield with a slow roll of his eyes. Between the twenty one players gathered here today, not a single point of health was out of place. Sure, the so-called support had done their work; it hadn't been too long ago that the boy Zelrius had been pushed to his very limits. He wondered if today would be a wake-up call for the Azure Commandant, or if it'd simply be marked off as another unpleasant memory.

On the other hand, the only other player to have taken a hit so far had taken it rather well. The Invincible Warrior, they called him. Far and away, he was easily Aincrad's top tank, and an all-too-crucial cog in the machine that was Aincrad's clearing group. Simply put, the man was good. More than that: he lived up to every bit of his title. An invincible warrior, whose previous reliance upon parrying had apparently gone up in smoke. In fact, some might say that this man was almost too good. It was a curious thing that the system had allowed for a build like that to exist.

A thunderous beat of wings sent his eyes skyward, narrowing as they locked onto the face of his enemy. He crunched some numbers in his head as his fingers tightened around the blackened dagger. Downing the beast was likely a feat outside of his limits- it would have to be another who'd lay claim to that task. Within his hand, Garanza glowed red, much like the cursor which hovered silently above its target. Charging forward, Azide leapt into the air, allowing the system to guide his movements in the heat of the moment.

Four mid-air revolutions, leaving an equivalent number of gashes across the underside of the airborne beast. It reminded him of a certain fight involving Calrex and Rebekah, though he could only hope that this fight would reach a much earlier conclusion. He landed, turning an eye to those who'd had yet to take aim a for a second time.

---
<Rohk, the Predatory Avian>
HP: 328/1,200
Mitigation: 80
Accuracy: 4
Evasion: 4
Immune to Stun and Paralysis.
Mitigates 50% of the damage from Critical Hits and Thorns (all variants)

Raptor Falcon: 0/300 | Mitigation: 0 | Evasion: 4 | Damage: 85
Raptor Falcon: 0/300 | Mitigation: 0 | Evasion: 4 | Damage: 85
Raptor Falcon: 0/300 | Mitigation: 0 | Evasion: 4 | Damage: 85
Amber Egg: 274/300 | Mitigation: 100 
Amber Egg: 274/300 | Mitigation: 100 
Amber Egg: 274/300 | Mitigation: 100 
Amber Egg: 300/300 | Mitigation: 100
Amber Egg: 300/300 | Mitigation: 100
Amber Egg: 300/300 | Mitigation: 100
Amber Egg: 300/300 | Mitigation: 100

Turn Order: 

Spoiler

[Hate: 2] Zelrius: 210/220 E: 23/50

[Hate: 2] Manta: 144/144 E: 23/36 [STUNNED]
[Hate: 1] Oikawa: 153/153 E: 18/37
[Hate: 0] Lowenthal: 128/128 E: 22/32
[Hate: 2] Azide: 148/148 E: 06/37 (+1)(-16)

~Rohk, the Predatory Avian~

[Hate: 1] Ssendom: 169/169 E: 29/41 [STUNNED]
[Hate: 0] Mack: 121/121 E: 26/29
[Hate: 0] Macradon: 125/125 E: 28/30
[Hate: 1] Takao: 165/165 E: 29/40
[Hate: 5] Tristan: 277/277 E: 43/43 (+55)
[Hate: 0] Zandra: 156/156 E: 39/39 [STUNNED]

~Rohk, the Predatory Avian~

[Hate: 0] Ebony: 104/104 E: 26/26
[Hate: 0] Shizuka: 124/124 E: 31/31
[Hate: 1] Opal: 152/152 E: 25/38 [Safeguard]
[Hate: 1] Calrex: 294/294 E: 45/59 [Safeguard]
[Hate: 2] Ariel: 177/177 E: 37/43

~Rohk, the Predatory Avian~

[Hate: 0] Cora: 4/4 E: 1/1
[Hate: 0] Jomei: 165/165 E: 38/40
[Hate: 0] Hikoru: 80/80 E: 18/20
[Hate: 0] Baldur: 98/98 E: 20/22 [Safeguard]
[Hate: 0] Brax: 108/108 E: 27/27

 

"Why are we here?" came the inevitable question.

"Well, I reckon it's mostly on account of that Kayaba fellow," answered McGonagall, who'd uncrossed an arm to rub at his chin, as if he'd just delivered unto the world a truly illuminating nugget of wisdom. He'd delivered something, of course- he always did. But it'd be a cold day in hell before those somethings were of use to anyone.

Folded arms held taut against his chest, tawny eyes twitching just the slightest bit, the young man stood his ground firmly nonetheless. Vaguely aware of his tightening grip, he made an effort to relax his fingers, letting them slacken as a deliberate breath eased its way out of him. To call his laughter subdued would be somewhat of an understatement; personally, he felt as if his uneasy chuckle had resembled that of a man being held hostage. Still, he supposed it wasn't unreasonably to cut this man some slack, all things considered.

His lips adopted a brittle smile as he turned to his much larger associate, who bore no hint or shadow of irony across the entirety of his mug. "Oh, silly me," said Azide, bringing a hand to clasp the back of his head. "Thank you for enlightening me, McGonagall. To think that all this time, I'd been at a loss as to how we came to find ourselves here in Sword Art Online."

A resounding belly laugh came from the red-headed man. As the fit came to an end, McGonagall planted his hand atop the shorter player's crown, ruffling the caramel locks which topped it. Naturally, the action had elicited from Azide a rather dirty look- but if the man had noticed the annoyance in his expression, then he sure hadn't shown it. "Don't go beatin' yourself up about it, kiddo. Used to be pretty stupid myself, back in the day. That darn roller coaster of youth," said the man, a dreamy look in his eye. "Er, not that I'm callin' you stupid or anythin'." He scratched at his nose rather sheepishly, washing his hands of the matter.

Azide sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Oh, don't you worry about me. I was only wondering just now how you managed to make it off of that coaster in one piece," said the youth, glancing off to the side. He thought he'd spotted a familiar face or two in the distance, only to snap his head back as something rather sopping and unpleasant poked him in the shoulder. As it turned out, it was a net which had done the prodding, albeit the man at the end of the instrument was of no surprise. "Would it be out of line for me to ask why you're doing that?" asked Azide, snatching the wooden pole from the other man's grip. Surprisingly, he found that it hadn't been a very difficult feat at all.

The man grinned from ear to ear as he took a step to the side, revealing the booth stationed in front of them. He pointed to the large tank which sat beside it. "Goldfish scoopin'. You and me, kiddo. Loser pays for lunch, no questions asked." Over his shoulder rested the hollow bamboo pole of a second scooper. Emblazoned across the base of the device was a stylized engraving of what appeared to be the man's very own smiling face. Fingers curled tightly around the wooden length, McGonagall gave the pseudo-lever a couple of quick pumps as he planted his opposite hand atop the booth's countertop, drawing the attention of the booth's NPC attendant. "So? Are we doin' this or you chickenin' out?"

Up until now, he had to admit that he'd forgotten all about the other man's profession of choice. He wondered if perhaps a fisherman might hold some sort of field advantage in a festival game like this. Even so, he found himself cracking a smile in spite of himself. "Make that lunch for the next week and you've got yourself a deal."

 

The main point is definitely for everyone to choose their own teams. No hard feelings, as excluding Opal's team (an outlier, due to  being KotB up until the 5-person limit), the majority of people were never specifically chosen (or contacted the leader beforehand).

Present day

"Not quite sure what you're tryin' to say over there, pal," said McGonagall. The words hung in the air in a manner rather in-your-face, which was likely owing to the air with which they'd been delivered. Simple words and a simple mind, and not very much going on in between; McGonagall had never exactly been prone to complication. As a result, it was not so difficult to re-attribute the dismissiveness of the statement as miscomprehension, or even as good old-fashioned ignorance. Even so, it didn't help that the man seemed to underestimate the natural loudness of his voice in the way an elephant might underestimate its strength. Asking McGonagall to keep his voice down was like entrusting said elephant to massage the back of a mouse without splattering its entrails all over the floor.
 
Substantial hands gripped the base of the wooden handle, his fingers coiled around it like a python closing in. A tremendous weight was lifted quite literally from the man's shoulders as he raised his hefty blade. With a dexterity which eclipsed all expectations, the blade propelled through the air with a certain swiftness which had traditionally been reserved for decidedly daintier tools. As the blade descended diagonally upon its target, perhaps the only indication of its true burden was the mighty grunt which accompanied it: a guttural cry which boomed throughout the clearing like a clap of thunder.

ID: 49540
BD: 5 + 3 = 8 (Hit)

<<Eternal Cyclone>> used:

[16 + 1 (Ferocity)] x [12 (Base) + 5 (Charge)] = 289

289 (RAW) - 100 (MIT) = 189 DMG

How long had it been since he'd last squared off in one of these raids? Two months- or maybe three? At least, that sort of ballpark estimate was the sort of thing that came to mind at first thought. After all, it seemed like only yesterday that the Azure Brigade had strolled off with another bundle of boss-themed goodies. 

He had to wonder how much longer it would be before the Brigade reneged on its infamously closed recruitment process; after all, it would take a fair amount of players to caddy around all of that unique equipment. With all of those shiny trophies in tow, it didn't seem possible for that bunch to resist sharing their haul with the rest of the world. Perhaps if one really behaved, they might even get the opportunity to actually touch one of those famed uniques.

Sweeping the battlefield with a quick dart of eyes, he took immediate note of the positioning of both Calrex and Tristan- players of enough importance to warrant a more prominent location than the ones which they'd been assigned, at the very least. What kind of a joke was it to omit the only two credible tanks in the room from their initial assault?

A shake of his head, accompanied by a sigh as he tightened his grip around the dagger, Garanza. No way would he throw his life on the line by tussling with the oversized chicken over there- if Zelrius wanted to play recklessly, then that was on him. Narrowing his eyes upon one of the ten or so remaining eggs, he gave a brief nod at Oikawa's observations.

With a mighty leap forward, he thrusted Garanza forward, feeling the slick blade bite deeply into the amber sphere. A quick twist followed soon thereafter, and upon seeing the object's health bar slide down a generous amount, he withdrew the embedded knife as he returned to the ranks of the other front-liners.

"Hey," he said, turning an eye to the golden-haired boy. "I probably don't have to say this to you of all people, but keep an eye out in these coming moments." The truth of the situation was that the Commandant had been the only one target and tag this 'Rohk' creature. Although it was only natural for him to play the role of the hero; after all, even the system itself had bestowed that title upon him.

---

Rohk, the Predatory Avian

HP: 661/1,200

Mitigation: 80

Accuracy: 4

Evasion: 4

Immune to Stun and Paralysis.

Mitigates 50% of the damage from Critical Hits and Thorns (all variants)

Amber Egg: 111/300 | Mitigation: 100

Amber Egg: 300/300 | Mitigation: 100

Amber Egg: 300/300 | Mitigation: 100

Amber Egg: 300/300 | Mitigation: 100

Amber Egg: 300/300 | Mitigation: 100

Amber Egg: 300/300 | Mitigation: 100

Amber Egg: 300/300 | Mitigation: 100

Amber Egg: 300/300 | Mitigation: 100

Amber Egg: 300/300 | Mitigation: 100

Battle Order:

 

Hang tight everyone, I'm sure we'll be filling in some more details soon!

At the moment, however, my group will be working mostly within the safe zone itself.

We'll be gathering information in and around the settlement while also investigating the root of the mob epidemic.

If anyone's interested, just say so! I'd like to get an idea of who our party might be. 

Tall, dark, and not-so-handsome; the history of the now-silent domain practically oozed from the dusty limestone walls. The faint scent of dread lingered in the air, along with a hint of something more. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but for some reason an old memory came to mind, bringing with it the bitter taste of reminisce- like bile in his throat.

He'd always thought they were the worst sort of days; when grey swirled about without end, and plundered from the very air its most vital essence. Blinking slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet the listless sight. For a long while, he simply stared into the depths of the monochrome canvas. His eyes poured over every smear and muddy stroke that color which was neither black nor white. They lingered upon the murkiness of it all, until his neck began to ache, and only then did he offer his hand to the cover of the clouds. Arm outstretched, he waited for the rain, eyes blinking in anticipation of those tiny drops.

But the rain didn't come. A soft sigh fell from his lips, but even still, his plea carried on. Days like this really were the worst- there was no doubt about that. These in-between days, which were neither here nor there, but fell upon him every now and then all the same. Days like this were meant for rain.

So why hadn't it then? 

Why didn't it now?

Falling limp, he laid his hand to rest within the velveteen linings of his pockets. Cedar hair, unkempt as always, perched opposite to longer, more flowing locks. Strawberry blonde, they'd been. Gritted teeth, tongues held just a touch too late and fingers curled inward until they'd begun to hurt. Even when the growing pools had been spilt, the heavy droplets burned into the pavement, the skies had still been too stubborn to follow suit.

He swallowed, finding himself suddenly aware of the dryness in his throat. Staring at the sky for a moment longer, he parted his lips just the slightest bit, and waited for what was due to him.

But of course, the rain didn't come. And so he bowed his head, and chuckled dryly to himself as his hand slid forth a midnight blade from its place at his hip. His sights set sternly upon the rusted doors which lay ahead oh-so-tellingly. A frown tugged at the corner of his lip, but fell just short of leaving its mark. Between his fingers, he twirled the sleek work of metal, catching it without much thought before reaffirming his grip. 

These fights would come and go, just as the players who entertained them. But he would always hate days like this.

 

 

Looks like we have plenty of interest here! 

So, to keep the ball rolling, what location have you got in mind for all of this?

And assuming we split up into separate threads, are there any elements that absolutely need to be kept consistent (to prevent conflicting stories)?