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Alkor

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Everything posted by Alkor

  1. The shadows of his hood obfuscated the top half of his face as he watched from across the room. He'd collected the same quest recently and decided to scour the town for other players who chanced on the same thing., but he hadn't expected it to happen quickly. While nursing the ale that sat on the table in front of him, he listened to the conversation just to be certain before he approached. Basic looking weapon, same for the armor... just by looking, Alkor gleaned that this player was a lower level, and the risks involved with the quest were fairly high if he tried to take it on by himself. Hi
  2. Thread Complete! total word count: 13610 base exp: 2265 alkor | t7: 15885xp lessa | t8: 18120xp baldur | t10: 22650xp
  3. How many times had he reached the same conclusion? How many times had it tasted just as bitter? The reality for Alkor was that he was a pyre, a bright burning furnace that fueled itself with singular passion- but the fire burned monochromatic. Where so many others put on a brilliant display across the entire rainbow, his own worth was grayscale. He could be hotter than all of them, but never as beautiful. And he couldn't even look away from the fire to care about the difference. That heat called to him, always drew him back, and ever burned him. The things Baldur said, Alkor kne
  4. "Mmm..." There was wisdom, certainly, in the allegory of the student and Master. The growth Alkor had found over the span of several years in Aincrad could be measured in his self-awareness, if not the elegance of his movements. Truth be told, Alkor found function for more important than form, and that was why he adopted movements that responded to the situation, not to his understanding of technique. As Bruce Lee had once said, "be formless, shapeless, like water." But Alkor's flow was anything but gentle and flowing. It was turbulent, like the cascading falls that eroded rock and r
  5. Every breath came and went in an instant. The same was true of openings, of opportunities, of a single moment in time that could change history. The average man thought nothing of the forces that perpetuated his life. The steps he took, the air he breathed, the water he drank- these things were natural, common, expected, even calculated. But what would happen without one of them? These were the questions not often asked, and more often than not, their answers were more important than the credit they were given. Strikes intended for his legs brought Alkor toward one of those inevitab
  6. Another aspect of the swordsman came to life in that instant. A man was a lifetime of experiences, and his feelings and thoughts changed with age. Baldur shifted like the seasons, from a Spring shower to a Summer breeze. After the initial clash of their blades that left them reeling, it was obvious that a different approach was necessary. It was obvious that the hammer was the wrong tool. So, for lack of efficacy with his inner flame, something raw substantiated. His grit evolved into stubbornness, and the wind buffeted against rock. Instead of giving chase, Alkor entrenched himself and d
  7. Always striving, never arriving. He'd heard that before from someone he knew. It was the same, difficult, at times frustrating mantra that drove him. Like the heart of a forge, Alkor burned through himself and hammered away the imperfections. One at a time, he chipped away a flaw that brought him ever closer to the complete being he wanted to be. He did not want to die, but with those words, he was reminded that there was only one final destination for them, as humans. It was that mortality that made their efforts precious. It was that fleeting spark that gave rise to the fire inside of him.
  8. When Baldur confessed to being an introvert, Alkor had to chuckle silently. They shared that in common, and yet, Baldur found it within his abilities to host this type of event. He was even able to reach beyond the norms of his limited social capacity to function as the master of ceremonies. Alkor wondered whether if his own experiences had been different, if he had adjusted to life differently and learned those skills, he might have been capable of similar feats. It might drive another man to envy, but Alkor found only a certain respect for it. Rather than strive after what he did not have, h
  9. The fighting had passed and people convened for the party that their host had graciously prepared. It was a rare time in Aincrad when someone went out of their way to accommodate others like this, so most of them were more than eager to indulge. How Baldur suspected Alkor might not be one of them was anyone's guess. Still, the man found him and quickly identified him by name. Like everyone else, Alkor had dispensed with his weapon upon entry to the tournament out of respect for the rules and safety of everyone; and so, when the man approached, his arms were crossed. Something told him it was n
  10. He knew better. The moment that the pilot pressed the button, Alkor narrowed his eyes. He watched the Dreadnaught for any hint that they'd been acknowledged, any sign that they were clear to proceed. None came. "Do you know," he asked as he took a step backward and violently thrust his blade into the stomach of one of the two remaining midshipmen, "how many men it takes to fly a ship?" he asked the ship knowing full well he had no such knowledge. In fact, the answer itself was irrelevant. They were already on course. None of these pilots were necessary for what he intended. None of them
  11. He remembered most of the past, as much as he did not want to. There was a fundamental disconnect between them, even from the beginning. He recalled how she looked to lean on him for direction, and how he had no idea what to tell her. She'd hung on every word, like the advice he gave was good as gold. Here she was today, a heavy armored bruiser who hefted a two handed sword around. He remembered suggesting that. Survival combined with damage- the best of both worlds, without being directly in the line of fire as a tank. Lessa had come far from that. She had made that advice into something
  12. He lifted himself off the bridge and turned to look out over the water as she spoke. Lessa answered his question as honestly as she could, and she came up with a better answer than he had despite claiming to know just as little. With his arms folded and his expression set in stone, he let her continue. She said that she'd spent so much time chasing people, she talked about pretending to be something she wasn't or doing something her heart wasn't in just to make others happy. It occurred to him, she understood his pain. Where he chose to cleave from expectation, Lessa had slaved herself to it.
  13. This marked as quiet as Lessa had ever been around him. She was always filled with questions, she always wanted to know more. She sought to understand things. The woman was filled with so much passion and warmth and she had gone looking for something she thought was hidden, only to find that it was never there to begin with. When Lessa apologized, Alkor had felt no need to accept or even acknowledge the apology- because for Alkor, there was nothing to apologize for. She, like so many others had acted in the same way. They expected- even at times demanded of him- something he did not have the p
  14. He understood all too well what it meant. There was a time when he thought killing killers might make a difference. When he believed that his own lack of humanity made him perfect for the task- yet when faced with his own mortality, he couldn't reconcile the idea of dying. He had so many things left undone, so much potential for good, for evil, for everything in between. He had potential to live a life, unlike the empty husk that he was in the world outside of Aincrad. Limp, unenthused, and going through the motions, he had all but given up. Too afraid to life, too afraid to die... and t
  15. There was no end to them. Alkor had neutralized or thrown over more than a score of peons and gained nearly no ground at all. He felt his energy stores waning and his body screaming at him. This was a team effort, and he rushed headlong into it alone- and the system was forcing him to pay for that. There was no turning back now- only forward, ever forward. His blade screamed out again as he parried a wild blade for the nth time, every motion fluid, lost in the last. His body spun, his arm reached out, and he lifted the offender over his shoulders in a quick motion. They did not seem to l
  16. Fatigue sank into his body as they walked. He felt lightheaded, physically drained. The path they trudged led away from the group, and the heavy gazes that only made him even more uneasy. When the sunlight hit them and they were away from prying eyes, he finally felt some stability. What came next was unscripted- it had to be. He knew that because of how many times they had this conversation, or some iteration of it, where Lessa spoke with utmost certainty that she knew a better way. Her way. Alkor had admired her way- but it had never been his way. He was ready to hear it again, but it never
  17. It was like a deep, rich wine, Vengeance. Once you took a sip, it either soured on your tongue and you never wanted it again, or it was intoxicating. Setsuna had not lost her thirst for it with a single kill. Her words, her actions were like a woman possessed. He could see the intensity of her need. It replaced other, baser urges. "Who will have mercy on you?" he asked, his voice much quieter. "You, who have tasted blood again and again, who decries the actions of killers while becoming a killer yourself. How much deeper will you sink before you drown in it?" he questioned her. She was ob
  18. After the Battle... He stood there for a long moment, quietly. The light that filtered in through the windows and the fixtures above burned his eyes as he stared straight upward, gaze fixed on the ceiling. What had he come to this place to do, if not to challenge himself? Why, in the face of defeat, did he not just quietly accept? He had run from the beast that hunted him, that anxiety, so many times before. He managed to wear a mask over it, to push others away, and in the loneliness that followed he manage to convince himself that he had disconnected from the pain. The pain never left h
  19. Before Round Two match... Impetuous. That was his impression of the woman, after he everything else stripped away. She came to her conclusion based on nothing other than wanting to know people better, and the fact that he was among what few she did not know. What Koga said gave Alkor the impression that he had warned the woman against this course of action, and she had seen fit to ignore those warnings. There was no better word for it than impulsive. But there was something wrong about the way she spoke, the exuberance that felt almost contrived. Did she want to talk to him,
  20. Finally, in that moment, she didn't ask questions. She didn't look for the "answer." It was so simple, yet they were so different. They heard things, experienced things, and at times even understood things differently. For a species so homogenous, the diversity that separated a single human from every one of their counterparts baffled the mind. Alkor, as a boy, had been forced to try to find a place in the paradigm. Like paper, they folded him, trying to shape him into the "right" fit. Everyone, everything around him called out for conformity. The world called on him to accept his differences
  21. His breathing was ragged when she rounded on him, his body shuddering as adrenaline fought on two fronts inside it. He felt like he was coming apart. "No," the word tore from between his teeth as he grit them, his knuckles white as he tightened his grip on the bokken. "I'm not losing to this," he said, shaking his head. I'm not going to live in that shadow anymore. For as long as Alkor could remember, his battles had always been clear cut. The victory was all that mattered, and defeat meant he wasn't worthy. But this sensation, the fraying of his nerves, the utter lack of concentratio
  22. The instant he saw her name opposed to his, Alkor paused. Around him, the world was silent, frozen, a glassy replica. The myriad sounds of excitement and anticipation drowned as the air thickened around him and his heartbeat became prominent in his ears. There were emotions in the abstract that he still did not understand, and perhaps he might never understand them. He felt like he was choking again, the familiar tugging inside his throat that threatened to close it when he looked at the expectations thrust on him by his parents. What was this? They aren't here. He took a breath, hi
  23. Alkor continued to watch the Treat passively, still in a crouched position as Freyd ruminated over the scene. "You hadn't noticed?" he asked quietly. "They come here only to mourn." He reiterated the sentiment, only it had been rephrased into something less cryptic. "Ellesmera is the domain of the Elves, but they don't claim anything else. Life is their domain. Their culture keeps death separate. Sacrosanct." The blonde gestured idly toward the Treant, twisting his wrist slowly to indicate the space around them. "This place doesn't belong to just the Elves." He watched the blind guardian free
  24. Alkor nodded. The way the event was engineered did not allow either man to fully gauge his own strength, let alone the skills of another. It was a simple metric, points based on hits, to examine the aggregate abilities of each player based on their efforts in a vacuum. He would not consider the loss representative of Koga's potential. He would not consider his victory a statement of any kind about his own. Instead, he saw victory and defeat in this setting as a litmus for how much or how little training he needed. Had he been too relaxed, or- His gaze slowly moved toward @Nari-Lanrethf
  25. Ladonian and Galtean clashed in destined conflict. The shrill sounds of metal clashing screamed through the bowels of the airship as Alkor hurried forward, squeezing past tight quarters swordplay toward the corridor that led to the upper deck. Another solider whipped through the door and thrust at top speed. Alkor batted the attack deftly aside and hurriedly shuffled to one side, which sent the soldier sprawling behind him. They had no time to engage in a melee, let alone try to hold the breached lower deck of an airship against an indeterminate number of enemies. If they wanted to put an
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