Alkor

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

(26/205) 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

The impact jarred him.

Before they ever had time to cool their heads and have a constructive conversation, the destruction robbed them of all clarity. Some fell away while others embraced the momentum. All of them found themselves with footing, somehow. He could no longer see the strange, loud woman or the blonde who entreated with him to stop the horrific scene from unfolding. Aincrad never seemed to consider the hopes and dreams of its captives. This quest seemed no different, no less apathetic.

What it lacked in compassion, the game made up for in allowing the Players mutability. It replaced intense longing with dread and hopelessness, the embers that stoked rebellion. What else could he do but arm himself with the few weapons it offered him but defy fate?

His landing was rough. Heels hit first, then toes, and then knees to displace the shock as he rolled through to his feet. He started to run immediately, barreling through a group of guards who shuffled to block his path forward. Not so far away, he saw the gate and another set of armed responders staged perfectly to bar him entrance. That was when he spied the others- the belligerent woman with red hair, namely. He immediately surmised her intention as she began to turn her aggression on a statue nearby.

There was no time to think. No time to rehash whether or not the idea was a good one, or if it would work. It would work. They would make it work.

With the gilded energies of a Sword Art coalescing around it, Alkor hefted his blade and cast his lot to the system. His body hurtled forward free from inhibitors, spinning and slamming the blade into the leg of the stature and tearing through with scant little resistance. In perfect time with the attack from his compatriot, the foundations of the artistic rendition gave, and the Blonde youth followed through his spinning slash with a well timed side kick. It belted out and made contact, forcing the behemoth object to fall toward @Celeste. She wasted no time in utilizing the momentum to lob it into the wall.

It smashed through in an ear-shattering collision and dust plumed outward. He covered his face and coughed loudly, expelling the particulates that made their way into his throat. 

Nothing would get in their way.

This was their response to the world that had stolen everything from them.

Ready, Aim, Fire.

[201909] LD: 10

Round 4 Progress: 38/150

Alkor felt the jarring sensation through his head as yowling metal protested the red woman's efforts. He watched in disbelief as she handed him the door handle and told him to "jam it in" to the breach. "Yeah," he replied swiftly as he knocked aside the box he'd previously set in place to offset the loss of power, right, then." 

With a quick and precise motion, he wedged the metal into the rupture and stepped back. "All yours," he prompted to @Celeste just before he heard an explosion of voices from behind and a loud impact. Alkor whirred round to see the blonde woman barreling into the darker haired one and spouting something about crashing the tower. He was uncertain about any of it, but there was one thing he did know. 

"Both of you shut up and start working together, or we're all going to die," he stated flatly as he left Celeste to her work to make for the controls himself. They were sorely in need of some direction, and it was clear that everyone had their own ideas about what that entailed. Rather than arguing with them, Alkor was the type of person to make the decision for himself and deal with the ramifications of his actions later. It was always easier to ask forgiveness than for permission, after all.

The First Sword moved through the door to better assess the situation he was walking into, and whether it would be easier to go in with sword drawn or just make for the helm. 

@Nian @Krysta @Plini

[201876] LD: 6 

Navigation: 113/100
Power: 91/100
Supplies: 73/100

With the situation as fraught as it seemed to be, one would think the group would come together and work as a team. That did not appear to be the case as Alkor sauntered along the deck and saw a group anything but unified. Chaos reigned over the people making a mad dash in every direction around him. Their voices and movements drowned in the explosive reports of blasts from far below. Smog choked the Knight as he ascended toward the helm, only to see the confrontation between several Players. He barely understood the words, but their actions spoke loud enough to reach him through the haze of insanity that had set in.

He let out a cough, fighting in vain to clear his airway. There were tears at the edges of his eyes and dark bags under them. The ashen blasts gifted him the look of a perpetually tired man. As the wind picked up seemingly out of nowhere and buffeted the ship, Alkor caught himself on the railing and held fast. Part of him wanted to interject himself between the two women who appeared ready to go at each other violently, but the darker haired girl broke away before he had a chance.

That was good.

No matter how well they kept the ship on course, it seemed like the engines were stalling intermittently. It was the only feasible explanation for why they kept dipping lower at intervals, even with a more or less self-correcting course. It was a system event, after all- there was only so far it could deviate from the plans that Cardinal had... right? 

Alkor slid across the deck toward the power couplings that diverted steam heat into electricity to power the controls and keep the airship aloft, and he found where a concentration of heat was venting out, away from the intended course. Damn, he thought to himself as he looked for a way to mend the damage. It was likely that it resulted from the scuffle to steal the ship, but in slaughtering the crew, they had equally destroyed any chance of anyone on board having the tools or knowledge to deal with this problem adequately- unless one of the Players happened to be an Electrician, or an airship maintenance expert.

Damn damn damn. 

For the moment, he grabbed a crate and covered the venting steam to trap it inside the ship. Hopefully that would allow more of it to follow the proper channel until he could find a more lasting solution. "Someone grab me something I can weld a pipe together with!" he called out loudly, his voice carried on the wind so that anyone aboard could hear him. He couldn't feel the deck heating beneath him yet, so he wagered he had time before his solution became a bigger problem than the ones they already had.

[201856] LD: 12 Power

Navigation: 69/100
Power: 69/100
Supplies: 63/100

The ship lurched, and jerked round as the Players aboard fought to stabilize her. Where he made sure that the mouthy woman made her way safely aboard ahead of him, Alkor was still at the mercy of the throttling, wildly wailing chain. Thrashing to and fro, he found it difficult to gain purchase at all. The dull static sensation in his elbow warned the First Knight that he was perilously close to losing his grip. Thankfully someone managed to right their trajectory just enough, and he got his other hand on.

"Brutal," he muttered as the ship sputtered, struggling it seemed to stay aloft at all. It was a wonder they made it this far- were they completely winging it? This event seemed to become even more insane as it played out.

Alkor pulled himself slowly up the chain and to the railing, his eyes scanning the deck for the first person he saw. There were too many, and the only one he remotely recognized was the woman he helped board moments before. They were in the throes of running around like beheaded chickens, which seemed to help very little given their situation, but he was just as lost.

With a harsh tug, he pulled the chain over the rail and started to wind it into a pile on the deck. At the very least, one less awkward distribution of weight overboard would help to right them on whatever ill-fated course they deigned to plot.

He glanced toward the helm. That would be his next destination. Time to find out who was flying this damn thing.

[201803] CD: 3 Navigation

Navigation: 31/100

Power: 33/100

Supplies: 31/100

The rush to the Skyport was a blur of thoughts. Like a shell-shocked soldier, the Knight waded through the confusion only vaguely aware of what was happening around him. It was the loud sound from behind him that jarred his senses and stole him back to augmented reality. Alkor spun rapidly as someone yelled out to him. His eyes darted to confirm the threat, and when he found it his blade spun in the palm of his hand. In a reversed grip as he took two swift steps toward his vulnerable foe, the sword drove home. With the blade sunken into the guard's armor half of its length, Alkor waited for two heartbeats for the system to dismiss the tragic man. Data bled from the wound as he slowly turned his attention to the woman who had addressed him.

"..." At first, Alkor said nothing. The woman had a crass, almost overtly rude tone to her voice. Her words suggested she had done him a favor, but the way she was saying them did not make him feel thankful at all. How was he supposed to respond to them? "...thanks?" he asked.

The reality was that even if the guard managed to get the drop on him, it would most likely have ended in just as much of a mess. The paralysis from Witchfang had already set in, causing the guard's jaw to slack and spew saliva as his eyes rolled back. Caustic energies from the various debuffs coalesced in a storm of death that roiled inside of the NPC until finally he expired. When the fragments spilled out in every direction, Alkor withdrew his weapon at last. "Remember, they always get back up," he told her, sheathing his sword as he turned his attention toward the goal. "Meet lethal force with lethal force."

If he owed her, giving her valuable advice for survival in Aincrad was equivalent exchange... right?

They continued into the Port as though she had randomly selected him as a member of her group. And who the hell is Blondie? Wasn't that a band in the stone age? he wondered absently as they cleared the first obstacle and were promptly presented with another. There were myriad airships in various levels of disrepair; but the one that stood out was under serious duress. A handful of Players had converged on the skeleton crew and were attempting to commandeer the thing by force. "Looks like the place," he observed. The airship was tethered to the drydocks still, making the attempt to liftoff dead on arrival- not that any of the Players would have known that, unless they understood the mechanics of flight. Alkor severed the line with a quick Sword Art and quickly wrapped an arm around Lilik's waist. "Hold on tight," he commanded as he gripped the chain just before it snapped from being taut. The resulting whiplash propelled the two out into open sky, thrashing in air as the airship was forcefully launched from the dock.

He felt the resulting sensation in his arm in a way that might have been a break if this were the real world. Luckily in Sword Art Online, such things only resulted in damage, but there was no pain. The only limiter that might have caused him to fumble was removed by limiters within the world itself. He silently thanked the powers that be for that respite. 

"Climb up first," he told the woman, "I'll be right behind you."

Now free to soar through the skies, it would be much easier for the Players to navigate to their destination.

[ID: 201763 // LD: 8]

Progress:

Navigation: 8/100

Power: 0/100

Supplies: 4/100

He flicked through his inventory idly and summoned a towel. Dabbing the fabric against his body, the sweat began to dissipate and he felt the chill replaced with familiar heat. The false sensation of a digitized body burning off calories. It was a brief respite, but welcome. When her next message came, the blonde knight placed the towel over his head and folded his hands in his lap, seated on the ground. The rumors that began to circulate recently had created a massive influx in the number of info brokers. Where once they were relied on only for details about the floor boss, now they had a trove of new information about the ever changing world of Aincrad. Alkor rarely passed on the chance to explore. This would be no exception.

When he started to work up his response, Alkor paused only for a moment to consider what might make Lessa reach out to him specifically. They had talked briefly about being better about staying in contact. Was he overthinking again?

Quote

To: Lessa

A rumor? Exploring? Sure, sign me up.

At the very least, he could figure the rest out when they got to that point. If he let himself, his anxiety would just talk him out of agreeing anyway. That was something he wanted to avoid.

One more body to the pile seemed insignificant, but the weight of a life was never any less heavy. His duty to protect the innocent was not a license to take life. Even though the guards were data in the game, their purpose designated and outlined to the digit, they were not altogether mindless slaves to the system. They were doing a duty, no different from his own. This twisted world had its way of ripping pieces of the fabric that made up every individual away, leaving frayed remnants of the person they were behind. How many ribs were left in the fabric that comprised Alkor before the person he was before ceased to exist? He left those dark thoughts in his wake, burning with Ladonia.

It was the low groan of Airships that caught his attention. As they went winging into the firmament, the impending dread that seized the people mixed with their resolve. Nothing made sense anymore. Whether they lived or died, they had decided. With the Skyport behind them, the war machines glided into place. A rain of iron foretold their advance. 

Whether the sky was blotted out by ashen clouds or day had forsaken them in truth, not a soul knew. Alkor made his way through the charnel piles that now leaned against ramparts and barricades, shoveled out of the path to make way for the Imperator's guardsmen. Blood rivers swelled between cracks in the cobbled street and pockmarks stained the once immaculate thoroughfare. With freedom on one side and tyranny on the other, equilibrium exacted its unfeeling tax.

Still, he advanced.

Alkor knew what had to be done the moment he saw that the Empire had chosen to take to the air. They could not be allowed to establish that kind of superiority. As the Skyport grew closer, he thought he could see other Players already on their way. Good. He would not be alone in this.

[LD: 201747 // 13]

Progress: 80/125

A sea of madness swallowed the city.

Where once the turmoil existed only in the form of cracks across chiseled marble, now Ladonia was fractured obsidian, blackened by the flames of rebellion. Alkor navigated perilous streets, dodging and ducking the charred detritus of former Imperial holdings. The citizenry cast off their chains, and the things that collared them were kindling for the blaze that set the backdrop to the floor boss battle. The dull roar of a crowd became mind-numbing screams, chanting, and cheering as they trampled guards. En masse, their unpolished and unrefined numbers swallowed the rank and file. 

One after another, they threw themselves at the seat of power on the floor. They were rebuffed and then gained ground in a bloody waltz, painting the streets red. Guards that once stood to bar his way no longer had interest in him as the First Knight of Aincrad fought his way through the struggle. If the worst feeling associated with being trapped inside the game was helplessness, it now blossomed within him more than ever. "For Galtea!" came a scream of defiance from somewhere nearby, "for freedom! For vengeance!"

If their were shouts to the contrary, they died on the lips that conceived them. 

"Razwell will fall this day!" the certainty in those words brought both hope and despair. The determination was admirable, but the resignation that followed was palpable. The die had been cast. It was the Frontliners who stood to  lose everything from failure. If there was any way to prevent that, any way to increase the odds of victory, or decrease the odds of player death from the outside, Alkor was resolved to find it. His sword was in one hand in a flash of steel, diverting a blade away from one of the commonfolk who was awash in the sea of chaos. The woman was dazed, staring up at her assailant with abject fear in her eyes.

"No harm will come to those who have no part to play in this act," Alkor said solemnly. The woman shook violently, but fear rooted her in place. The owner of the parried blade turned on him. Ladonian, Galtean- all words, all divisive terms for two sides of a single coin. Aincradian. "Go," he called back over to his shoulder to the woman, who turned to look at him. He did not face away from his opponent. He did not turn his face from death. "Blood waters the fields that prosper in the wake of rebellion," he said, "but someone must live to tend those fields. Hurry."

After a moment of uncertainty, his words seemed to dispel her shackles, and she fled the scene. 

"The Imperator protects!" screamed the guard as he raised his blade and made to strike at Alkor. Two swathes of crimson appeared across his chest in a cross pattern as Alkor executed his Sword Art, no longer hindered by a ward in need of protection.

"When you see him in hell," Alkor muttered as the man scattered into fragments, "tell him to do a better job of it."

Alkor

 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)

The seconds that ticked away until the battle were even more prominent in his mind. In the last Floor Boss battle he faced, Alkor was certain that nothing would go wrong. Experience and time had taught him to value life more than that. The anxiety that came with gambling one's life for the chance at freedom was exacerbated by the stinging uncertainty that surrounded the encounter ahead. He hadn't gone to the meeting, or even considered coordinating with the others because he was afraid to face them. He still had yet to reveal that he was alive to many of the others, and the confusion that it caused might rattle them. No, that meeting was a time for strategy, not for making dramatic entrances.

Which meant he was woefully unprepared. 

Armed with his hard work and dedication to training, he felt confident that things would go well as the fetid stench of sewer water overwhelmed his senses. He felt his eyes watering as he navigated the turgid mire, following the sounds of movement in the distance. The splashes of many footfalls, the voices of a group, surely this was the clear team sent to deal with the floor boss. The underground was a labyrinth in the truest sense. Just as he begin to see shadows taking shape against the stone walls by torchlight, the telltale sound of a system message stole his attention away.

               Rebellion has broken out in Ladonia.                   
           The Central Tower has been left unguarded.             
      Will you take advantage of this rare opportunity?     

He froze. There were a million possible meanings for this, but the most likely of them was that everyone was being prompted. The frontliners had breached the boss room, and now the game was reacting. The world of Aincrad was lashing out again. Alkor stared hard into the flickering shadows as they diminished. While they needed all the help they could get with the boss, there was always the chance of greater danger to those outside. Players who were not ready for the trials of the frontlines would be called up, unexpecting prey for the unforgiving Cardinal system. With a frown on his face, he turned his back on the clear and present mission. Several words echoed through his mind as he turned back, breaking into a sprint that would bear him to the overworld. 

Your duty is to the people of Aincrad.

His fingers moved deftly through the air and dismissed the message by fiercely tapping the blue circle.

Quest Accepted.

Beads of perspiration clung to his body as he spun. The blade tore across the straw dummy, drawing a line of crimson that indicated his blade struck true. His other foot stepped forward and he brought the blade upward in an arc, and droplets rained to the floor beneath him. How many times had he executed the Sword Arts, now? How many times had he seen his own actions and deemed them too slow, too sloppy?

Alkor screamed his frustrations to the universe, and the loneliness of the training yard answered him. The swordsman had shed several layers to compensate for the heat of the ninth floor, the site of his greatest failure in Aincrad, but the memories robbed him of all the respite he'd gained from the small act of defiance.

He dismissed the blade and fell promptly to his haunches, head buried in both hands. "Why am I struggling this much?" he asked. Was it so hard? The system took over automatically. It registered the very thought of which Sword Art a player wanted to execute, and with only a vague amount of doing, it actualized their intention.

But he had almost managed to break free from that. 

His foundations deviated from the integrated data. The system's shortcomings, in his view, failed to allow him room to adapt. Instead of a single, powerful, disconnected blow, it was possible for him to combine a series of smaller attacks for greater effect. So why couldn't he just cancel the activation of a Sword Art mid-way? Or was there a trick he just couldn't pin down?

He wiped the towel he'd brought with him across his brow as the familiar sound of a message chirped in his ears. It wasn't rare to hear from an Info Broker, but when he opened his eyes, the name he saw captured his attention.

The blonde knight stood up and started to wipe himself off as he opened the missive. He hung the towel across his shoulders and sat cross-legged in the dirt. Lessa wanted to know what he was doing...?

He scratched his head idly for a moment. Admittedly, he was bad with these things, but he'd promised to work on it. So, he started to respond.

Quote

To: Lessa

Training. Nothing special. How about you?

Alkor

"Kochira koso, yoroshiku onegaishimasu." For someone with a laid back attitude, his linguistics mirrored a more cultured, respectful upbringing. It was an odd dichotomy. He watched as Hikoru left them to their business and once he was gone, Ariel set about her work immediately. Business as usual, and for Alkor, that suited him just fine. When she pulled the map data, he glanced it over thoughtfully.

Not much had changed about the topography, but it felt like other things were in flux. At one time, there was no danger from the Gryphon unless its nest was disturbed; but now, it seemed that wasn't the case. He frowned. What other things might be different when they got there?

"We should assume that the situation might be dangerous," he said. "If there is a mechanic like that at play, there's not much we can do other than get the hell out of the way. Best case scenario if we get grabbed, we get moved to the nest. Worst case scenario, death by fall damage." Alkor took a sip of his coffee and placed it back down on the table. If only they served booze. "I'd rather avoid either, honestly, so keeping an eye out is a big part of this. I think we should actually go up to the nest and see what's going on- or at least, get as close as we can. If you're willing to?"

She was ready to go, so he nodded and stood to follow her. "Figured I didn't need to ask, but formalities aren't a bad thing," he said with a shrug. 

With that, they headed to the teleporter, and to floor 7.