Alkor

Alkor glanced down when the young woman entreated with him to wake her up on arrival, and he offered a soft smile in response. They had already come this far, and if she was alive, that was a statement to her ability to survive. She had earned whatever small rest that she could get in these hectic times. "You'll know when we get there," he murmured quietly. There were people who hadn't caught on to the finer implications of their plan yet, but Alkor wasn't going to bother explaining. At this point, they had already committed to the ride and whatever came with it. His gaze swept over the screen of airships on the horizon, steadily growing larger. He settled into his position at the bow as the NPC continued to work with the rigging to get them airborne. 

"You said that the flight was going to be a one way journey," the man commented. "You seem a little too composed for someone about to die."

Alkor chuckled. "The world you're leaving is one you'll never come back to," he glanced back and offered the man a wink. "Regardless of what happens when we get to those airships, there's a new world on the horizon. Whether it's this Princeling or some other King candidate, someone is going to crawl out of the woodwork to sit the throne. It will never be the same Galtea, not the same Ladonia, it will be a culmination of your efforts, your sacrifices, and your ideals. This is your moment. You get to write what you want the future of this land to look like."

The man stopped for a moment and watched him carefully.

"Just what do you all intend to get out of all of this?" he asked at last. 

"Closure." He answered with no hesitation, and without a doubt in his mind. They couldn't get anything else, and he knew that he didn't want anything else. It was time to see this floor into a new age so that he could leave it behind and go onward to the next challenge. "You don't light a fire and leave it to burn. I want to see this through to the end."

He stepped out of the arena and summoned a towel from his inventory. With a ragged breath, he dabbed some of the perspiration from his face and neck before slinging the white fabric over one shoulder and hurrying away from the crowd that had gathered to watch. He wasn't the type to mingle or get heavily invested in social gatherings, and he didn't particularly like the idea of scouting the competition. He preferred to adapt and learn based on his own experience. He planned to continue on toward the beautiful lake view, but was stopped short when he noticed Baldur. He gave a stiff bow, careful not to make eye contact.

"Sorry about the training sword," he murmured dutifully. Since the man was already engaged in other conversation, he did not want to intrude. (It was also likely that Alkor just didn't want to become part of the conversation.)

He did not miss a step after the bow was complete, and turned to make a bee line toward one of the many bridges of the compound, where he would await the second round.

"Locke's interpretation of the Social Contract," Alkor gestured toward the other man, "and Rousseau's are two different things. Admittedly, you're following the logic of the version famously cited as the foundation of American law and political theory, so it makes sense that you're confused." He gestured for a refill of his drink. "Locke talked about the Law of Nature, that is, to respect all things according to life, liberty, and property- the basis for human morality. He posited that so long as those things were respected, it was in the common interest of man to be unified. Once a man's rights were violated, however, there came a need for change- which we saw manifest in the American revolution."

Alkor took his drink from the woman with a soft smile and took a sip. Still not the harsh flavor he craved, nor the release that came with it. Bittersweet. "Locke fundamentally considers property to be the point at which a man should not be violated. Not so for Rosseau. His treatise on the Contract posits that Society rose out of necessity. During its earliest days, it lacked the consequences that eventually arose out of it. Classes. Divisions between men based on their wealth or station. No longer was man equal under natural law, he was stratified based on the circumstances of his birth, his possessions, things which placed him above his fellows. Property was an inevitable cleave from nature." 

He placed the cup down, now watching Koga again. "They are two different wars, the American and the French Revolutions, born out of two different theories. Yet they both claimed to fight against injustice, against the violation of their rights. Locke's proponents lambast Rosseau's over the matter of ownership, but only a handful of years separate the two events. And between them, a single man fought in both, and saw both countries freed from their own brands of tyranny. Rosseau's proponents didn't look at the King of England and balk at Taxation without Representation, they saw men who felt that their positions had fundamentally changed, and that the society they had been a part of no longer served their best interests. Lafayette fought and bled for Americans because he believed in their right to determine their own destiny, to create their own society apart from the British. 'Man was born free, and he is everywhere in chains.'

Did people suffer...?

Certainly, the people suffered. By Jefferson's own words, 'the Tree of Liberty must needs be refreshed from time to time with the blood of Tyrants.' The same Jefferson who spent the majority of the War for American Independence in France." He traced the rim of his cup idly with a finger. "Neither country went into their respective periods of fluctuation or unrest expecting a peaceful transition. No one went in with delusions about there being no sacrifice. To be free, man must shed blood. Safety is no longer a consideration."

Alkor slid his thumb into the cup, pinched it and lifted it to his lips, then downed the last of the water with a contented sigh. His eyes found the empty vessel, and he turned it over. With one hand on the bottom of the cup, he rested his chin on the other. "Our societies wouldn't exist without revolution, just as much as they would not without law and order."

Floorboards rattled as though struck by lightning, and the subsequent thunderclap reverberated through the room. Alkor felt the shockwave shoot up his arm and rack his body with an intense shudder. The weapon had cracked already, put under the pressure of keeping up with the man. Another powerful swing and it would be compromised. These training tools weren't made for the intensity that Koga and Alkor had brought to the room.

When his next attack struck true to Koga's side, the bokken splintered. Shards of wood burst across the floor around them and left Alkor with the jagged corpse of a wooden sword.

He frowned.

"Tch..."

Alkor held the useless tool up in the space between them and regarded the other man. "Hard to practice swordsmanship with no sword," he commented offhand. The implication would not be lost on Koga. He took a step forward and thrust the sundered hilt to Koga's chest, leaving it in the other man's possession. In a much lower voice, not meant for anyone else in the room, he addressed his friend. "We'll have to go again sometime. This setting doesn't give us much room to cut loose."

With a step backward, Alkor snapped off a respectful bow to Koga, then turned and left the arena.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Alkor scores 

Koga - 1

Alkor - 3

It wasn't at all like the last time he'd fought someone in this world.

Brutality met anticipation in earnest. The wild burning in Koga's eyes mirrored the insanity in the blonde Knight's expression. As his opponent found his footing, Alkor surged forward. The pace wouldn't be allowed to slow at all, the cadence too hot and heavy now with their cumulative sacrifice. If either man stopped dancing for a moment, they would be swept up in the firestorm that existed only for them, in that time, in that place. With wicked wings fanned wide, the Phoenix stretched out its talons to rake the Wolf. Alkor charged across the distance Koga had made, assisted by the Cardinal system. He sustained as a blur of darkness for a heartbeat, and in the next, he was on his enemy once more.

He brought his weapon down on the other man approximately at the same time that Koga's guard would have risen once more. Either the weight he forced onto the man would put him on the back foot, or Koga would have managed to resist; regardless, it would have been a mockery to do anything less. Push each other to the point of breaking, test the foundations for cracks, seek growth. That was what both of these men sought. Neither man could compromise on that, or the friendship that they had cultivated would mean nothing. 

The language they used was different, but this was just another conversation between the two men.

Anyone watching might see the intensity between them, and the terrifying expression on both their faces. Like two demons, gleeful, wicked, and wild.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tie

Koga: 1/3

Alkor: 1/3

When the kick hit him, Alkor was heaved backward by the force of the blow. Unexpected, but then, Alkor had focused all of his training into the blade. There were many disciplines in Sword Art Online, and each of them gave a Player distinct and different abilities. Knockbacks and crowd control effects were commonplace in online games, and added a layer of difficulty to encounters. It meant a gulf between them for a brief instant.  It also meant that Alkor understood the nature of his opponent better, now. 

He slid out of his opponent's range this time, following the momentum of the blow, and brought his blade up parallel to the ground, level with his eyes. He dropped his level as Koga encroached, closing the distance in the span of a breath. There was no reprieve. There was never going to be. Alkor kept his muscles coiled, ready, and as Koga pounced on him, the swordsman twisted his body underneath his attacker. Instead of letting the man in close and giving him the advantage of being inside his guard, Alkor opted to overextend him. In this way, he retained his reach and gained a different vector to attack from.

If, that is, Koga didn't recognize it for what it was in time. Ducking beneath the blow afforded him a quick dodge that quickly transitioned into an offensive maneuver, with Alkor stepping out of the spin still in motion, bringing his blade around in a whip-like arc, downward and seeking his friend's exposed back. In this world, there was no pain. It wouldn't send Koga sprawling the way it would in the real world, but it was a very real response to Koga's opening remarks. Hopefully, it would not disappoint.

Attack: Tie

Koga: 1/3
Alkor: 0/3

Alkor had to shrug at that point. "I can't help how other people feel, or what they think is best for them. I don't intend to dictate that to them. God knows, I'm not anyone's dad." He watched Koga now, almost appearing relaxed despite the intensity of their words. "Protecting someone doesnt mean that you make those decisions. It means you do everything in your power to ensure they have the agency to make those calls for themselves."

He had learned the hard way that trust and teamwork came from exposure. In order to cooperate with someone, in order to defend them, they had to know your intentions. Even when they did, there would always be someone who saw the world differently. Sifting a hand through his hair, Alkor sighed. 

"The rift between being complicit and refusing to tolerate that tyranny is almost indistinguishable when talked about. I don't know about you, but I have my fair share of examples to go off of when it comes to taking a stand. I plan to try to live up to those."

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes again. 

"We can only give others the tools to survive on their own," he recalled a lesson from his youth, "what a man does with the gift of life is his choice to make."

He stepped into the ring with a training blade at his hip, immediately thankful that the first round was someone he could let loose with. Koga was like Alkor in many ways. He had a fresh outlook on their circumstances, and he strived to get stronger. There was no better opponent to gauge himself against. The man was clad in the garb of a martial artists and his chosen weapons appeared to be his fists. Alkor could hear the crackle and pop of Koga's knuckles and the excitement that sparked like electricity between them. With a wry smile, the Black Phoenix replied to the man's greeting with only the most gleeful bloodlust. There were no hard feelings in this place. There would not be any.

"Oh, excited is hardly the word."

Cue music

His blade erupted from the scabbard as Koga closed on him. Alkor had no intention of holding back or going easy on the man. They had both survived in Aincrad for this long. Neither man had any cause to fear death. Neither man had the right to withhold anything. The conversation was for their skills to dictate, and the blood that splashed across the dirt to record for the future. In a flash of skin and blunted steel, their bodies became a blur as the Cardinal System overlapped their movements, tracking input woven together with honed skill. 

Koga's attack came dangerously close, closer than previously anticipated. It took him a half-step backward to correct his positioning, and that was enough to offset his original intention to counterattack. No, Koga wasn't a simple cardinal generated enemy with predictable patterns. Alkor gnawed on his lip and bristled at the way he'd handled things, but there was no time to fully reflect on that now. Instead of beating himself up, he channeled that frustration and anger into combat, maintaining a more defensive stance now as he refused to back off of Koga and reset. Real combat didn't work like that, and neither of them was going to start over after making a mistake.

War was a commitment to facing danger. Conflict was gambling with death as a real possibility. If either man gave up a point, it would be no different from losing points from their health to them.

Alkor brought his weapon round and tested Koga's defense this time, much in the same way that his opponent had tested his to begin.

This time, they would have a more decisive answer.

While large group functions tended to fall outside of Alkor's itinerary, tournaments were the singular exception.

He considered his options immediately; because of his disappearing act on the ninth floor, there were still those who were unaware that he was alive. He'd avoided making himself too well known since waking up, but the chance to see where he stood against the frontliners who had come all the way to the twenty seventh was too good of an opportunity to pass on. That is, if there were any of them among those who gathered for what had been advertised as a "Valentine's Day" competition. There were lingering doubts in his mind attached to those specific words, but he knew the name Baldur well enough. He had heard Mari say it at some point, and Lessa too. The so-called 'Gaijin Samurai" was an established veteran. 

Leaving alone the pretext that came with his chosen moniker, Alkor had to assume that the man had some pull with his reputation. He approached the ferryboat where a man named Takumi introduced himself, and Alkor gave him the once over. With a hand outstretched, he offered col to the retainer rather than words. "Baldur-shisho welcomes all today, you need not pay me for my service," he intoned. And indeed, the Japanese culture considered tipping an affront, a subtle statement about the quality of the work and employer. Alkor steadily withdrew his offer of coin and simply gave a quarter bow, a sign of respect and dignity for the man's gracious services.

Given his choice of clothing and the golden hue of his hair, Alkor looked more like a deviant than the respectful, ordinary countryman he may once have resembled. Still, this was Aincrad, not Japan. Stranger things happened everywhere, every day.

"Just a few moments, I will bear you to the island."

The man neither waited for a response, nor did Alkor give one. Within seconds they were bound for Baldur's estate grounds, where the other entrants and the organizer himself no doubt waited. When he stepped off the chokkibune, the swordsman laced the thumb of one hand idly through his belt and surveyed the area. There was NIGHT, and Koga... and more people who he did not know. Perhaps he had met them, or perhaps not; if he had, it had likely been several years since he saw them or heard from them. The sight of Baldur came with immediate recognition, however. He was everything his reputation foretold: a foreigner clad in the trappings of a Samurai. Aincrad truly was a world where the future and past collided.

He gave a respectful bow to the man as he passed, as was the custom whenever one crossed paths with the patron of an event.

And then, he disappeared into the crowd to await his match.

The wolf invaded his space and subsequently rested its head on his lap, and Alkor glanced down. What an odd happenstance. He never really interacted with familiars, not other than the one he'd attained through that damned quest, and even then he didn't summon it. Something about being alone felt ingrained at this point. Still, he didn't make any move to dislodge Okami. He wasn't hurting anyone, after all. His gilded gaze moved back to Koga when he started talking again, and Alkor folded his hands on the table. 

"It's the people who are forcing others to do things that I'm skeptical of," Alkor pointed out. "I don't plan on doing anything else but taking responsibility for my actions.

There was a moment of silence as the woman came around again and refilled their drinks. In that time, he didn't speak or look away from Koga. The gravity of those words was enough in itself to drive home that they had reached an understanding. With more water in hand, the swordsman took a sip to clear his thoughts and erase the palpable tension. "I'm guessing by now you've noticed it, too. People in this world with invisible hands. The ones trying to move other people like pieces on a game board, treating the problems and emotional states of others like tools or toys." He cut right to the point, because now they'd wasted enough time on semantics. "Or maybe you haven't seen that, but you've noticed the ripple effect. People grouping up for the common good, unified by some visionary's ideals. People taking up the cause of righteousness, talking about killing other players for the sake of justice. In this mad virtual world, there are people who make their own laws, and in the worst cases, people who impose their worldview on others. I'm reflective about myself because I don't want to become like those people, but also because I want to protect others from them."

He took one more sip of his drink, then placed the remainder on the table. He would not pick it up again. With his arms folded, Alkor closed his eyes. "I saw the Rebellion in Ladonia. The people divided, the disparaged at odds with the powerful, and I was reminded of how all of these events were influenced by human history. Aincrad isn't just simulating things that aren't realistic, Koga. Humanity is a beast who exploits. Over time, we've developed civilization and domesticated much of those survival instincts out, but they're dormant, not gone. Kill or killed became rule or be ruled. 

You asked me what I'm doing here on Floor 20. I'm an outsider. The large groups of people, the whole society and civilization thing- it's never really been my scene. Everything I've ever been told points toward me being the strange one and condemns that innate drive toward isolation, but... everything I've seen compels me to distrust all those things I was told."

That was how conversations usually ended. Both sides exchanged information, and they reached a conclusion. Sometimes it came back up later, other times it was left in a comfortable place. This time felt more like the former than the latter. There was only one thing left to say that wouldn't needlessly prolong the awkward series of messages that, for his part, he wasn't completely sure about. Lessa was notoriously good at navigating these situations, at least that was his impression of her. He figured this was her way of being merciful.

Quote

To: Lessa

Sounds good. See you there.

He tossed aside the towel he'd dried off with and pulled his shirt overhead. Summoning arms and armor from the ether, he was fully kitted within seconds. It was one of the few reminders of the efficiency of this world, that lack of difficulty. It existed in other ways, certainly, but those differences from the world outside only served to remind him as well. It was the subtle nudge he felt daily, something that prompted him to continue his path forward. There were people who were blurring that line, and people who had already succumbed to the idea that they might never be free. Then there were people who he had gotten to know, people who he formed bonds with, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant those bonds might be. Aincrad had spun a web around him, and he was powerless to resist. Soon, the venom had spread throughout his system.

Now he was on his way to the sixth floor, and they were going to investigate a rumor about ruins and flickering lights.

He stepped out of the teleporter into Krycim. It always unnerved him the way that the settlement filled with women regarded him coldly, but then, they had warmed nominally since the floor boss was defeated. It was hardly enough to give him comfort. Those gazes were of malcontent and distrust, like he had done little to earn what praise the Players managed to gain from them. It was possible he was just more sensitive to body language like that, though, since a stare felt incredibly malicious to him on the best of days. What chances he got to go without notice, he relished. 

That was a rare thing in a game where you frequently ran into the same people due to a homogenous community. 

Alkor wasn't sure how long Lessa would be, so he set up not far from the town's exit, leaned against a tree. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was her way of being considerate. "North exit," he repeated aloud. "Now-"

SP tracking and Skill/Mod list

(16/195) L 32 // P 35

R5 Heavy Armor 30 SP

[Mod] Impetus

[Addon] Iron Skin 6 SP

R5 Battle Healing 30 SP

[Mod] Emergency Recovery 6 SP

R5 Straight Sword 30 SP

[Addon] Stamina 4 SP

[Addon] Precision 2 SP

[Addon] <<Straight Sword>> Focus 4 SP

Combat Mastery: Mitigation 13 SP

Energist 8 SP

Fighting Spirit 10 SP

Howl 10 SP

[Addon] Focused Howl 5 SP

TECH specialist 10 SP

(Extra skill)Parry 10 SP

[Mod] Vengeful Riposte 5 SP

(Extra skill) Survival

Level 32 // Paragon 28

780/780 HP  112/112 EN

23 Base Damage 30 Mitigation

5 Accuracy 3 Evasion 

32 Blight Damage (20 Mitigation loss for duration) 

48 Bleed Damage

Paralyze

 42 Battle Healing 

Survival (10% increase to healing effects applied)

The Prince's address seemed to light a fire in Player and Galtean alike. 

He expressed his intention to use civilian transportation airships to commander the militant vessels that his father had mobilized, and there was a moment of concerned silence. Or at least, Alkor was concerned in silence. He could see that the Galteans saw this move as all that was available to them, a last ditch attempt to stop their despotic Emperor from destroying the way of life they had managed to scrounge together. It was the young Prince's intentions that Alkor doubted. He had everything to gain from the losses of these men and women, from the sacrifice of Players and NPC alike. A young son, furthest in his line of succession. It was not difficult to see that the youngest child of Razwell was not so different from his father.

However, it was the option that Lamont had presented them that gave him pause. Whether the people of Ladonia saw the youth take the throne or deposed him was more or less inconsequential to the Knight. They would choose that destiny for themselves; but in order to get there, Razwell had to be stopped. There had to be a world left behind in his wake to rule, and they had to be alive to affect any change. His gaze shifted immediately to the wave of ships that impended on the horizon. At their flank, the behemoth Ifrit eclipsed all. 

Unlike the others, Alkor wasted no time on words. He grabbed hold of the railing of the closest airship and bounded over it, hit the deck running, and clambered up the bow of the ship. He had no misgivings about the fate of any one of the ships they were about to employ. "You're quick to charge to the front for this land, foreigner," one of the crew observed as he set about loosing the mooring from the front section of the ship and preparing to shove off. "This flight may be a one way journey."

"It will be a one way journey," Alkor corrected gently, "but freedom isn't bought without sacrifice."

"So why take the chance?" the man asked, curious. "Have your kind not done enough for us?"

"Lets just say where I'm from, we don't like tyrants much," he smirked, reminded of the state motto of the commonwealth where he was born. He recalled the storied  George Washington, the Marquis de Lafayette, and all of the soldiers who bled so that they could raise the star-spangled banner. For a moment, he felt humbled. There was no way in his life outside Aincrad that he would ever come this close to understanding what any of those men felt. Perhaps it was foolish of him to compare the two, but... "and honestly, its time someone paid it forward."

Alkor drew his blade and spun it until the light gleamed off it as he pointed toward their final destination. 

"Remember these words, friend," he told the man, "you may need them often in the coming days."

He raised his voice and rebuked the heavens:

"Sic Semper Tyrannis!"

"Hm."

Alkor took a sip of his drink as Koga spoke again, this time pausing to consider all of the new information. He wasn't sure about any of the psychology involved, and perhaps it was the fact that never been great at self-assessment that made him rebuff the idea offhand. There was merit to it, though. The things he didn't understand were often the ones that hit him the hardest. He slowly placed the pipe away, certain that the time for mindless self indulgence had passed. Now they were talking about something with real substance, and it deserved more than passing attention.

When he leaned in a bit, his voice dropped as if he didn't care to be overheard. "I think that's also part of the whole condition you're talking about. Picking and choosing the things we want to hear, and the things we don't." He stayed in that position for a moment, watching for Koga's expression, reading whether or not he was onto something in it. When he sat back, Alkor gave a sigh and shrugged. "But what do I know? The whole concept seems abstract and alien to me. I've never had a reason for doing anything, except for the ones I've made for myself. I can't say I place much faith in prescience. 'God has a plan," or 'we all have things we're good at, you just haven't found yours yet.' Garbage ideas. Bought and sold at discount rates with the intention to keep people from losing hope."

He took one last sip to empty the glass and placed it back down on the table in front of him. "People are free to believe whatever keeps them going, I can't say I hate that drive toward survival. It's the way that those methods affect the people around them that piss me off." He made his stance on that particular matter abundantly clear, because he didn't want Koga to misunderstand. It was only a small part of his point. "There's surviving, and there's how your survival starts to affect the people around you. That's what I'm worried about, I guess. I'd be no different from those predatory evangelists if I started getting people involved in my own struggle for meaning. That circles us back to why I'm here, rather than partying with the others for the holidays, I guess."

"From one point of view, I know you're absolutely right. I've made huge strides since I got to this place." Alkor smiled faintly as he swigged at his drink. The pipe spun now around his finger, idly, like he'd practiced the motion a thousand times. When the cup hit the table, the pipe met his lips. He was like an old addict, with tricks that made it seem much more impressive than it was. "One of my friends used to say it like... always striving, never arriving. I think that's probably pretty accurate. Thing is, there's that, and there's... emotional stuff. Anxiety. You can be great and still worry that you're not."

The fatal flaw of many heroes was overconfidence. But what of the people that weren't? Those trapped inside Aincrad were socially maladjusted, largely post-pubescent teens and young adults. They still struggled with their identity, and talks of purpose like this were just stepping stones, clear transitions out of that awkward phase, into adulthood. Adults weren't all heroes, either. 

"It's probably okay that we don't know," he admitted at last. "Despite what we're told our entire lives about graduating from high school, going to college, joining the workforce- the whole concept of "what you want to be when you grow up- all of it is so skewed. It's like... putting the cart before the horse, you know?" He remembered all of those conversations, all of the expectations, and all of the weight forced onto his shoulders from the time he was very young. Doctor, Scientist, Lawyer... all the things his parents or his peers said he could do, that he should do, not once considering what he might want. He was pushed to excel and rush headlong toward those things without ever having the chance to experience anything else. He pushed and pushed, until he broke and wanted none of it.

That was how he found himself in Aincrad to begin with. A convenient escape from his failure to live up to the expectations of others. Escape from the life he'd long since stopped caring about living.

It was only in this conflict, in losing the very last thing in the whole world he cared about, that he learned to care about anything else again. With that care, with that renewed interest, it seemed his anxieties returned as well.

"Do you think that's what makes us human?" he asked, suddenly.

He folded his hands and let the pipe rest across his two pointers, stretched out to serve as a makeshift surface for that purpose alone. With his gaze locked on the rhythmic swirls of gray, he listened as Koga spoke. And he was reminded of the words he'd said, which floated back and forth on the stormy sea of life. There were times when they felt real, and there were times when they waxed so far away they seemed like fantasy. In his most lucid moments, he either affirmed them entirely or dismissed them outright. His duality almost felt comical when he was called to account for it.

Despite that, he could not bring himself to laugh. 

"All of that is still true," he admitted. "All things I'd want, in an idealized scenario. I guess the longer we're in here, the less that those outcomes seem real to me," he admitted. Cynicism failed to truly describe the insurmountable anxiety and depression that had manifested around him. It was like standing on a frozen sea, with the ice all around too thin to walk. The water threatened not only to drown him, but to chill him right to the bone and rob him of all faculties. Reflected across the surface, he could see his life playing back like some slow and monotone drama.

He spun the pipe around his two fingers and let the mouthpiece fall comfortably in between his teeth, whereupon he took another drag. With his eyes closed, he removed it and jabbed the other end toward Koga absently, pointing. "But there's plenty of things in the way, things that make it seem nonsensical even without considering the problem of Aincrad. For instance- I've never been in love," he opened his eyes. "I don't know what that's like. I have no frame of reference. The more I think about it, the more it seems like it's not important. Like I'm creating small problems to look away from the big ones."

Maybe his problem was that he overthought everything, but that was part of who he was. Without all these digressions of thought, there would be no "Alkor." Still, the backlash had managed to do him no favors. He blew out the tendrils of ash through his nostrils as he gestured for another cup of water. 

"I want all the answers without having to ask any of the questions," he said, finally. "And I know that's stupid."

"Ain't wrong about that bit, I'd wager," Alkor took another sip of his water before he finally sat back, eyes closed and legs crossed. He elevated his heels on the table and reclined a bit, leant against the wall behind him. "Tireless enemy, singular purpose, infinite creativity, and a well-spring of resources at its disposal. When you put it that way, it's not at all disheartening," with a wry smile, Alkor let the bemused sarcasm die as he struck a match and lit up his pipe. It was less worn than the one he'd broken the last time they met, but with digital pipes, who could really tell if the habit had slowed down?

"At least I'm here trying, huh?" He echoed the sentiment with glassy eyes. A plume of smoke rolled from his lips as he contemplated those words. "Yeah, maybe," he shrugged. "That's true of most folks, though. Anyone who doesn't have it in them to struggle toward something is already dead. That's the whole point, isn't it? We fall out of our mothers and gradually cut away from them and crawl toward whatever fleeting wonder transfixes us. Everyone has something shiny that catches their eye and they chase after it til they catch it. Then what? Follow your dream, find your purpose, and what comes after that?"

At some point, Alkor had come to terms with being trapped inside Aincrad. He'd faced so many demons, and among those, so many reflections of himself. It wasn't this world that scared him anymore.

"Come a day I don't have a sword to swing anymore, and I'm back to stocking shelves at a Grocery store, if that's even still my life outside of this world..." he drew from the pipe again, held the smoke a moment, then locked eyes with Koga as he exhaled. "Most of the people I've met here have something to go back to. A dream to chase. A purpose. A life. It's started to hit me that I don't, and this might be as good as it ever gets for me. The fantasy I always hunted for to escape my reality. I got everything I dreamed about."

Alkor let his gaze fall away as he rested the pipe in his lap, smoking softly.

He eyed the contents of his clay cup idly, slowly rotating his wrist to cause a ripple across the surface. When it reached the edge, another followed in its wake. The rhythm mesmerized him momentarily, since he had no proper answer for Koga's first question. What qualified as "trouble," anyway? The act of joining a rebellion, however fleeting, didn't seem to fit the bill of keeping his nose clean. 

What did give him pause was the way Koga addressed him. Possibly the only person who ever called him 'Alky' was Corvo. They hadn't talked in some time, and their relationship had been estranged. Try as he might not to think about it, the relative loss of one of his best friends hadn't felt good. In fact, remembering it now made Alkor more inclined to try the putrid wine.

He took a quick swig of the water and turned his amber gaze to Koga, shaking his head slightly. "Not the biggest fan of pre-civilization victuals, truth be told," he glanced toward the effectively empty restaurant all around them and made a quick, all-encompassing gesture. "More the company that interests me," he shrugged as he replaced both hands in his lap. "Rather, the lack thereof. Had lots to think about lately, what with trying to get involved again."

Between the idea of "duty" and his fear that the frontlines might reject him, Alkor didn't know where to begin unpacking the contents of his mind. 

"You'd think trapped as we are inside a world with a pretty clear and well defined goal that it'd be the easy part."

 Level 31//Paragon 21

740/740 HP 100/100 EN

23 Base Damage 30 Mitigation

5 Accuracy 3 Evasion 

32 Blight Damage (20 Mitigation loss for duration) 

48 Bleed Damage

Paralyze

50 Battle Healing 

Survival (10% increase to healing effects applied)

A drink.

The most recent event was an insane riot that spanned an entire floor of Aincrad and consumed the Players and NPCs in a spiral of lawlessness. People died- whether or not they were real, there were nameless faces imprinted in his thoughts, like some veteran soldier after his war had ended. All he wanted now was to find a place where no one else was and have himself a drink.

The lower floors were filled with people, especially closer to the holidays when people tried to forget their families on the outside and cope with existence inside Aincrad. That meant the ones higher up, especially the middle floors, were sparsely populated. It was the perfect place to get away. In theory.

In practice, the NPCs on this floor were primitive. The food in this area particularly was not appealing to his tastes in the least. While the people around him were content to feast on leaves, tree pulp, water, and the local insects, Alkor just wanted a mug of ale. The concept of alcohol pre-dated modern civilization by thousands of years, so he was confident that the records used in compiling data for creating this floor should have something to slake his thirst...

"...tch."

The closest thing he found was a jar, and the pungent, acrid breath of an aged, fermented wine. The breath that assailed his senses was almost enough to take his knees from under him. "I can't even get drunk in this world," he lamented. "this would taste like death and not even give me a buzz."

Alkor replaced the top on the jug and slid past, then made his way into a nearby restaurant. "I'd like some water," he murmured as a woman swept past and took his order. His eyes swept around and he caught sight of someone nearby- someone who he recognized.

"Koga," he greeted the man as he took a cup of water from the woman, and found a seat on the opposite side of the table. "Looks like neither of us is particularly in the seasonal spirit."

He was at a loss. 

For all the possible places for them to end up after the last room, the one they found was quaint by comparison. Beautiful and quiet in contrast to the disharmony outside its walls, the problem it posed was that it now served as a makeshift prison. The only obvious exit was the way they had come.

More obvious than that however, was the certainty that it was no option at all. There were keyholes, made apparent not only by a cursory sweep of the room, but the observation of another Player who Alkor did not know. They needed to find keys, then.

Instead of wasting his time consulting with the others about it, he set immediately to work. Finding something was well within his skillset. The conversation that followed was better left to the others.

Alkor hurried over toward one of the stained glass window and rifled about through a nearby bookshelf, peeling its contents free and skimming through pages of dusty, ancient tomes. A false page, perhaps, or something wedged behind the spine?

Ah- it seemed less convoluted even than that, because no sooner did he pry free a third book than did a key tumble from the shelf and land on the floor at his feet. He knelt and lifted it up, appraised it, and held it for the others to see.

ID: 202777  LD: 18 Keeper of the Keys! (#2)

Alkor gives Jomei the key.

Alkor glanced toward the newly found exit, biting his lip. There it was- a fiendishly designed path, but perhaps not the sort that he was looking for. What he had not expected was for the Players to create their own makeshift pathway to ascension, on the literal backs of NPCs. With a sigh at the foreboding nature of Celeste's brusque response to Cardinal's challenge, he quietly clambered up to the rope ladder and climbed, quickly so as to be certain that he would trod as little as possible on the others. There was a certain necessity in it, but he was loathe to treat anyone as pawns, digital or otherwise.

It seemed that while they had the same frustrations about time, the impetus that drove some of the other Players was lining their pockets. Loot, spoils, col- whatever it was that they sought, they cared little for further progression and found the quickest possible path for their own gain. Meanwhile, whatever possible outcome this sudden event might have if they reached the pinnacle would be lost to them. For Alkor, it was a matter of routing the machinations of Razwell before they had time to bear fruit. If there were more destruction waiting in the wings, he wanted to find and neutralize the possibility before any more death could occur. NPC, or perhaps even worse.

He clambered up the rope ladder and found himself at the top.

Alkor climbs to the next level.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

He watched passively as the others rushed at the obstacle before them intent on playing along with the balancing act, but the devious attempt at stalling the group only made Alkor more suspicious. Of course, they could eventually solve the puzzle laid out for them, but at the sacrifice of efficient time. Their most precious resource, and most scarce, he needed to find an answer to this question that afforded them as much as possible.

And so, the direct approach seemed the least likely to yield the desired result. Balanced, there would be a path forward... but there had to be something they weren't seeing. Something that made this feasible for the Imperator to skip the frivolous game he'd laid out for them to play. Cardinal was straightforward in that it followed the designs of its of designs faithfully. That meant the Imperator could be relied on to be devious.

A trait that, because of a nature beyond his control or understanding, worked in the favor of the Players. But would anyone else see that? 

He glanced around at the others, certain that if they had the same revelation, no one had spoken up.

Alkor looked along the walls that he could see in search of any sign of tampering or difference in pattern that might hint at a hidden path.

ID: 202737 LD: 20

North Corner: 0/50
East Corner: 3/50
South Corner: 0/50
West Corner: 0/50

"N-no, please, I don't know anything, I swear it!" the guard bleated as Alkor held him at blade point. The swordsman wore a dispassionate mask toward the man, hopeful that it would spur a more favorable response, but as the pleading continued he realized that the man truly had nothing worthwhile to give. He withdrew his weapon to the sounds of relief and overwhelming joy, but Alkor sheathed his weapon without looking back to the guard or acknowledging him at all. "I... wait... wait!"

Alkor closed his eyes as he started down the path that the other Players had taken. Behind him, the downtrodden people of Ladonia closed in around the guard he had spared, and as the Swordsman ascended the stairs, he was haunted by the inhuman shrieking that echoed through the halls of the tower. 

There is no such thing as innocence. Only varying degrees of guilt.

Those words hung over him as he scaled the tower and finally regrouped on the tenth floor landing with the others. If one could call it 'regrouping.' The moment he did, what Alkor found was uneven footing that would reward a misstep with frustration. It was a puzzle meant to stall them. The Imperator had told no one of his plans, but he had taken measures like this. He was King who lacked for trust, even in his own men.

What a lonely existence.

Though perhaps a lack of trust was not so uncommon. He saw the same sentiment reflected in the way so many people clambered about the platform, undirected and lacking in communication. Instead of rushing forward, Alkor waited and watched. Maybe, given a few moments more, they would start to come together and the pieces would fall into place.

Maybe.

Or maybe they would brute force it, just like everything they'd done up to now. Would that brutish and untamed method bear them to victory and quest completion? 

ID: 202343 LD: 19

North Corner: 0/50
East Corner: 0/50
South Corner: 0/50
West Corner: 0/50

What do you expect me to do about it? 

That was what he wanted to ask, but the situation made discourse the least optimal expenditure of their time. If they had more room for planning and a greater margin for error--- no. They didn't have that. They wouldn't have had that even in the most ideal version of this timeline, because the quest was randomly generated, their advance notice nonexistent. Alkor had no time to get hung up on the minutia surrounding the responsibility he neither asked for nor wanted. Instead, he had to grunt disapprovingly and continue to move completely fueled by adrenaline.

 They breached the wall first. The most vocal opponents were the ones that the crowd rallied behind. Instead of their voices however, these Players chose to sing the song of angry men with their swords. Inevitably, the crowd would surge inward in their wake. Whether the NPCs did that in an effective way or not now fell to the Players to dictate. Such was the nature of the beast, Aincrad.

He grimaced, because the only "effective" way to spur them forward would inevitably lead to their deaths regardless. This fight was one they chose, he reminded himself. Like so many others before them who lashed out against tyranny, they knew the price they might pay. War is a cruel mistress, but she doesn't lie to your face about her intentions. It didn't excuse him from accountability were he to use them like expendable pawns in a game. Or did the very nature of the game excuse that?

No.

"I'm not leading anyone," he said quietly as the frantic streets of Ladonia were replaced by the opulence of the tower's innards. Stone and woodwork, carpets, more statues depicting the vanity of the Imperator. It was the microcosm wherein the dictator had remade a small fraction of a world in his own image, a vision of what he had hoped to impose. "This is what men who lead inevitably aspire to, after all."

The peasants and middle class of Ladonia flooded in without need for a prompt from anyone. Looters who sought their fortune in the worldly possessions of their conqueror, the disparaged who sought to burn those who wronged them- it was a force that would not be controlled, and he had doubts that there was a limit to how much direction they would take to begin with. If not Razwell, there would be someone else. One of these many, inconsequential faces would climb the broken backs of his peers to stand on their necks. 

Conflict had truly jaded him, hadn't it?

The tower was a labyrinth in its own right. A melee broke out around him and Alkor found himself gripping the wrist of a guard who brought a weapon to bear on him as he looked around. "I'm not going to lead them," he reiterated, though it was unlikely anyone would still be around to hear him, "but I'm not just going to let them get slaughtered, either."

He stepped back and hefted the guard over his shoulders. The man rolled quickly and violently over his back and slammed to the floor, and the blonde held the tip of his weapon toward the man menacingly. "The Imperator isn't going to yield to the people," he spoke in a low voice to the man, pressing the blade to his throat to prompt an honest response. "Those airships raining fire on the city tell me he doesn't care if he's ruling nothing but ashes. So tell me,"

Alkor leaned forward and spoke in a lower voice now, barely above a whisper.

"What's his game?"

ID: 202021 LD: 12

Progress: 129/150