Elora

A spinning cinnabar cursor captivated Elora's attention as soon as she turned to regard Mari. If only for a moment, her eyes became transfixed by its scarce appearance. Then, the gravity of what it signified. 

I wonder who she killed., came an immediate curiosity. It was strange, novel even, for the thought to carry any weight. Every day, players eagerly slaughtered monsters and pre-programmed characters. Killing, like most of their lives in Aincrad, had become routine. Just another day's work.

“Uhm….”, she barely heard above the cognitive noise, “Hi? E-Elora Right? Mari. I’m Mari.”

So Freyd had already mentioned her. Should she be surprised?

Eyes peeled away from the suspended crystal, drifting down to scrutinize the woman below. Orange hair., she noted for its uniqueness. Straight sections of thick, unruly locks framed a pale and freckled face. Chiseled, yet somehow soft, her tired features suggested a depth beyond those of a caricatured serial killer. 

Elora's sights settled to a definite focus on a set of gorgeous cerulean eyes.

Silent seconds passed as blue bore on blue.

A prolonged and unsettling exchange.

"Geidmirning.", she managed to greet through tensed jaw, a subdued Irish accent lilting her words. Motion in the form of a brief wobble coaxed her to glance further down. Hunched in an awkward pose, Mari set her opposite foot and slowly reached to reclaim a renegade shoe.

Why was -- had she been carrying her shoes...?, wondered Elora. A sweeping glance confirmed the other to have tumbled quite a bit further away, resting just before a now-stirring Freyd.

Sights returned to Mari to find her looking....apologetic.....ashamed..? Brows furrowed as Elora unexpectedly found herself in the other woman's shoes. Memories of nights spent out far too late, downing far too many pints of alcohol, staggering back into her parents' house, and praying not to get caught. For all the fun that came with adolescent's reckless flings of escapism, there was always the gamble of a harsh and sobering consequence. To think she feared a similar retribution in their home...it somehow didn't sit right with her. 

Suddenly uncertain of her own judgements, Elora found herself shifting balance between her legs; a chaotic dance between the stubbornness to intimidate and an instinct to diffuse the thwarted scheme.

"We don't have a genkan.", she bluntly stated, aptly recalling one of the many architectural terms that Freyd had espoused to her during their home's construction. "You can keep your shoes on inside..."

With a held stare, Elora forced a crudely congenial smirk, offering the feign of a cultural misunderstanding.

A comforting patchwork quilt gently swaddled around her beloved as Elora resisted the teensy-weensy urge to straggle him into an eternal slumber. Surely, a simple knot and a concerted twist of the wrists would see the job done. There was plenty of leverage and more than enough strength to -- she dismissed the intrusive thought with a sharp drawing in of her breath.

What in the actual hell was he thinking? Bringing a player-killer into our house?! How are we going to -- how can he think that that's safe?" Elora was acutely familiar with the disorienting nature of a few stiff drinks. Even still, they couldn't have excused such a severe and utter lack of judgement, and by the likes of Freyd, of all people! Scenes of a maniacal ringmaster flashed across her memory as she stalked from their kitchen and out into the hallway. Sparing only a moment to glance in the direction of their guest room, she silently hastened to the second floor.

Unexpected gratitude came in the form of a fastened deadbolt as she spun to rest against their bedroom door. Mari, the name echoed in Elora's mind, Wasn't that...the player involved with Chaser? She remembered the day Freyd had called that guild meeting, the evidence he had shared - a slew of messages exchanged between the three of them. An anxious pace carried her to the far wall as she struggled to recall their contents. There was an invitation to talk, what has truly served as bait to an ambush. It was something to do with Mari...the way he'd hurt her? No -- Chaser had accused Freyd of hurting her. So she...sent Chaser off to challenge Freyd...?

Flopping onto the mattress, she rolled onto her side. Perhaps she was misremembering details. Had Freyd explained his interaction with Mari? There had to be a reason he had hurt her. Maybe he was defending himself. Maybe she had tried to hurt him. He could have...gotten too close...

Suddenly awash in a current of worry, she seized the empty pillow beside her and clung to it tightly. As the last halos of twilight were lost to darkness, a racing conscious skewed ever-slowly into the rhythms of a blurry lullaby.

--- 

Heavy eyelids found difficulty in greeting the morning as searing columns of light beamed directly into her retinas. A beleaguered yank of the cotton sheets caused the translucent fabric to balloon around her. Cold air billowed across her skin as she curled into a shivering ball. Disgruntled and exhausted, she muttered beneath her breath, "weirb dream..." 

Remembrance dawned on her as she roused from her sleep. Wait -- did that really -- is he still --? Scrambling to leave bed in a decent fashion, Elora felt like a firefighter racing to douse a potential flame. Or in this case, prevent a fatal stabbing? Buttons haphazardly fastened; she threw on a black shirt with a lopsided overhang. Feet quickly, quietly, shuffled their way down a wooden staircase with a carpeted runner.

Another second spared to glance down their hallway.

Making her way into the kitchen, she nearly stumbled over the crumpled form of a sprawled out drunkard. Had he migrated in his sleep? In either case, guttural snores signified that he was still breathing -- if only barely.

***

Elora | HP: 760/760 | EN: 110/110 | DMG: 24 | MIT:78 | ACC:8 | AA | EVA:3 | BH:38 | REC: 4 | FLN: 8 | BLI: 32/-20 | STC: 40 | LD:2

Uneasy eyes shot glances from one player to another as they attacked with unexpected coordination. By the time she'd struck the knight and stepped back to reclaim her distance, a different player had rushed in to assume her place. As usual, Freyd had goaded their enemy into a false sense of superiority before flipping the switch to render it stupefied. Meanwhile, a stylish man in a red duster seemed to dance around the drunken stammers and swashbuckling staggers of a comparatively plain-looking soldier. Katoka spared only a moment to extinguish her lingering fears before lunging in to finish the job.

A shiver ran up Elora's spine as she recoiled, flicking her hands outwards to dispel the harsh sound of glass scraping across metal. Satisfying electrical crackles applauded the specter's death as it disappeared into the surrounding abyss.

The once-lamentous valley suddenly came to a bittersweet stillness as raindrops smattered against the tired players. Exhaling in synchronous relief, they spared a few seconds of silence to appreciate the fleeting peace it would offer. 

"Well, I suppose that's another one down.", Kat eventually concluded, "Anyone need an escort back to the gate?"

"I'll take you up on that", agreed the woman who had assisted them in their assault.

With an uncertain sigh, Elora walked over to check on Freyd. "I'm not sure if I'll be staying or going, but in either case...", she spoke to them all, "I think we could all use a moment's rest."

Once again lobbed into a mixed media janga tower of cuteness, the furry, slimy, and rocky familiars slowly got back onto their paws, tentacles, and pebbles - respectively. A series of disgruntled noises morphed into pleased acknowledgements of the enemy's defeat. Pale blue fog oozed from beneath the former chimney's bricks as they swore to have heard the faintest, "NOOOOoOoOoooo..." caress their digital eardrums, auditory canals, whatever --

All that mattered was that the stupid knight was squished and that they were still perfectly voluptuous. Magically, the storm clouds offered their congratulatory reprieve from the pelting rain as sword on sword slapping noises dwindled on the not-so-distant horizon. That probably meant that the desperate battle had ended. Or that everyone was dead. Hopefully not the later.

Stoney joints popped back into place as Borris reformed his structural integrity. Rolling itty bitty fists into Reliq's face, he encouraged the mimic's wobbly eyeballs to return to roost in their sockets. Hanami's head quickly perked up as ears began to decipher the sounds of an encroaching commotion. Spurred by a spontaneous excitement, the recently-exhausted familiars swiftly nyoomed, schlorped, and rolled their way over to reunite with the trio of players that they had come to trust.

Surging commotion drew her closer to the battle as a group of dazed players hobbled past. The oppressive darkness, dispelled by the intermittent flash of steel on steel, smothered their sights as soon as action had extinguished. Like air splitting from the lighting strikes overhead, thunderbursts and players alike rushed to fill the vacancy in a crumbling defense.

Elora's mind flooded with a million fears as rain began to fall. Exhaling in ragged breaths, a tightened chest remembered the rising waters, the sensation of air escaping her lungs for a final time. Instinct feuded with her aspiration to help, causing her knees to buckle, her spear trembling within a white-knuckled grasp. 

A sudden hand spiderwebbed cold shivers from her right shoulder as a familiar voice offered reassurance, "You've got this. I'm not going anywhere this time." Turning to meet Katoka, Elora couldn't help but marvel at the woman's tenacity, how much she had grown from an anxious foot-soldier into a legendary samurai. She was sure, not even the old stories had detailed the journey of one as skilled or as remarkable as her. Squeezing firmer, she gave Elora a nod before ushering them both to enter the fray.

Muddy ground could not offer her the steadiness to dispel every worry, but then again, it didn't need to. Surrounded by the resolve of strangers and loved-ones alike, she knew they could face this threat together, or find some perverse comfort in the fate of a shared ending.

Releasing her left hand from the slippery hilt, Elora brandished her weapon and followed Kat's every footstep. Soon they would both be face-to-face with a monster.

***

Dark droplets began to stain the ground as an encroaching thunder rumbled overhead. Stringy and disparaging, the forbidden calamari appeared to have fallen victim to its haphazardly-executed assalt. Sporadic drizzle swiftly swelled to steady shower at the soon-to-be expense of the makeshift sea-bear circle. Between the craggy gaps of fractured cobblestones, water channeled and dissolved tiny ravines through the spilled crystals, weakening their protective power.

Hanami had already identified the looming threat, and moved to strike before opportunity evaded them. Climbing atop a nearby building, she heaved and slammed against a teetering chimney. A series of concerned chirps communicated her need for additional help. Borris was certain he could make the ascent, but the sniveling mass of purple spaghetti...

Attention turned to the wooden barrel he'd pried apart. Still dry and sheltered from a convenient overhang, the pile would serve as a useful diversion to buy them more time. Fashioning a nail into a fantasy matchstick, Borris struck the sharpened steal against his arm. A tiny slew of sparks shot outwards, searing the wood with scattered embers that whooshed into a growing flame.

As the homunculus crawled toward the sudden disturbance, Borris rushed over to assist the struggling mimic. While Borris was far too small and the other familiar far too weak to easily reach the rooftops, there was a chance that their combined efforts could make the journey easier.

Once again disassembling, each of his stones scouted to tuck beneath a separate withered tentacle. A series of tugs guided his comrade to reach for magnetic fixtures above. With any luck, they'd be able to scale the slick exterior and assist Hanami in thwarting the knight.

***

Support action: Borris lights a bonfire in the middle of the street too make the knight go "ooh shiny" and get distracted.

Creepy, dank, and unnervingly wet. As if Aincrad didn't have enough of that. Sure, the swamp floor had its share of rank bogs, but at least it had some sunlight now and again. On the other hand, Floor 13 had been cloudy, but there were still some cool craggy landscapes and crumbling cityscapes to explore. This place was just...depressing. 'Nightmarish' may have been more apt a description. 

Elora had made no haste to come to this place. Not after Freyd's harrowing encounter with death. She hadn't been there when he had needed her most, and to imagine, rushing onto a level without safezones soon after? There'd be no higher risk to souring their cherished reunion. While she didn't pride herself in being tactical, Elora understood the advantage of waiting. The trouble was that her ambitious partner was, charmingly, the complete and utter opposite.

Briskly summoning her holographic mini-map, the elven-eared woman dashed her way to a nearby waypoint. At least, it hadn't seemed all that far-off until she had come to a sudden halt above a desolate ravine. Desperate screams echoed sharply from below as Elora's hairs bristled to stand on end. Anxiously pacing the chasm's edge, she hesitated to plummet into the soupy darkness below. Surely, there had to be a safer way down, or some method to assess what the hell was actually going on in its obscured depths.

Another bout of terror reverberated below, prompting Elora to action. Repelling off the steep ledge, she carved her spear into the shale walls. Sparks tore from the serrated blade as she braced her fall into the inky pit. All around her, the husks of eldritch corpses illuminated with stark and eerie shadows. Broken spiral ribcages. The hollowed out sockets of cyclopses and cerberuses alike. 

After what felt like only a second, her leather boots thumped against solid ground. In the interest of concealing her position from an unseen enemy, she tucked close to the nearest wall and continued her advancement toward the solitary cursor.

***

Elora accepts & consumes: Smokin' Hot Honey Bun Tray | ACC 2 | EVA 2 | Feast (5/6) + ACC filled, Elixir of Wrath (Potion) | Tierless Perfect | Damage 3 | 196575c

Elora | HP: 760/760 | EN: 110/110 | DMG: 24 | MIT:78 | ACC:8 | AA | EVA:3 | BH:38 | REC: 4 | FLN: 8 | BLI: 32/-20 | STC: 40 | LD:2

Jumbled pebbles reunited atop a furry waterbed as magnetic attraction fused each segment into place. Feisty and prepared to exact his vengeance, the tiny terrestrial golem catapulted from his flubbery cushion to survey the surrounding area. A sharp chirp goaded his attention over to a narrow stretch of path. Littered with toppled bricks and rickety barrels, it would serve as an excellent trap or barricade for their newly-forged common enemy.

Borris wasted no time, his rocks reconfiguring to flatten and roll out like a flinstonian transformer. The improvised chain swerved and snaked its way up the hill until it eventually reached Hanami. Yes, he had recognized her now, her appearance distinct and unmistakable from the familiar who aided Katoka. Gestures quickly indicated her intention to weaponize the barrels, though he wasn't entirely certain as to how. 

A series of pitiful sploots announced that their dilapidated comrade wished to aid in this unorthodox operation. Perhaps together, they could find a way to stop or hinder the ghost from spreading further. 

Attention turned to a pile of disheveled kegs, their planks too rotted or contorted to plomp a domp absolutely anywhere. A polar hand firmly latched itself to one of rusted nails as the other stones searched for additional leverage. Finding a sturdy metal ring, Borris's opposite end contracted to pry the pin free from its board. Working his way up the ream, he continued to pluck what could later be fashioned into a crooked spike strip or tetanus ammunition.

Piece by piece, the scattered perspectives of each wayward stone began to merge into one. Embarking on a treacherous mission rescue to liberate their Leg, Arm and Shoulder trudged ever-forward across Reliq's undulating skin. What seemed like rolling across a firm tarpit must have felt a full body message to the rambunctious polypus that wriggled beneath. Their combined effort, however heroic, was quickly overshadowed by a the threat of an unexpected adversary. Not so far away, the frenzied skirmish carried on. Amidst the commotion, Head was no longer sure who they were fighting, if they were winning, or if retreat had become critically necessary.

Shouts rang overhead as panicked simulacrums deviated from their usual programing. Like a sloppy rendition of the River Styx, the jumbled appearances of various NPCs began to stream across the ground. It was as if the world around them had tugged on a loose thread, unraveling lines of code until their original outcomes resembled nothing but the makings of a phantom chimera. Gnarled and mutated, its smoggy skin bubbled forth and bursted with the curdled faces of friends and familiars alike.

The raging battlefield, now reduced to a morgue, became the hunting grounds of a creature that knew no satiation. Palpable wrongness oozed from the accursed amalgamation as it hungrily towed itself toward another feast.

Exposed and isolated, Borris's headstone skittered in a frantic attempt to flee from the encroaching mob. As he maneuvered around scattered debris, a sudden crack had sent a series of loose boards soaring through the air. One by one, they smacked into the knight, seeming to stun it, if only temporarily. 

Arm became schlorptioned stuck, lodged firmly into the gooey rind of the twisting invertebrate as it sputtered forward. Like a chopper locked in a high-speed chase with a DUI basket case, the baby mimic launched and pursued the pebble that birled above. Leg did not have a mouth, therefore, he could not scream. Instead, the igneous reeled in the nauseating sensation of intermittent weightlessness. Rocks weren't meant to exist in the air. Not now. Not ever. 

Shoulder didn't envy his limbs' subjugation. From nearby, the determined stone rolled its way over treacherous molehills, skipped across vast puddles of stagnant street water. A distorted shadow cast from above appeared like the body of a skyward centipede as it wriggled around to follow his path. Through no small effort, he'd located the gremlin responsible for the perilous joyride. Closing the gap was only a matter of waiting for it to become enamored by another reclaimed treasure. Stone magnetized to stone in one decisive motion, administering a stern pinch to the critter's rear. At least, whatever part of it was currently unoccupied by fangs and eyes. 

Clamoring and chaos all around, an abrupt contrast to the serenity of their secluded forest home. Valkyrie cries from above ushered in the calculated swings of an emerald spear. Cool and ornate, its serrated edges cut crude gauges through the bodies of the swarming meat-stuff. Screams called the blade to retreat from its holster as its wielder spun to regard another group. For only a moment, she appeared to hesitate. Frantic steps staggered backwards, then carried her forward once again.

"SOD OFF!!", cried Elora. 

Suddenly, her fingers had curled around his body. In a single motion of brute force, his magnetic bindings had severed, his disparate stones soaring through the air in a bombardment of biblical proportion. It wasn't long before his head reverberated with a deafening metal "TWANGNGNG".

Soon, an impact would find his shoulders, then his arms, and finally, his legs.

Like a pouch of dilapidated marbles, they poured across the ground. Scattered in every direction, each explored the subtle characteristics of an unfamiliar terrain. Shoulder was pleasantly surprised by the soft landing that followed a series of ricochets against wooden supports. Arm was concerned by how quickly a collection of goo had halted its roll. And Leg...

Where was Leg?

Head did its best to keep an earth to the ground, fashioning the overwhelming onslaught of armored clangs and metal scrapings into a sort of sensory landmark. Luckily, Arm was not too far off. Eager to reassemble, the lone rock tilted toward the leftward commotion, then began to...

Strange...it felt as if he was being pulled toward something. But the grooves of his gravel weren't stuck in the slimy substance, just simply plopped atop it.

He supposed that Shoulder might have more information. Reluctant to leave its oversized heating pad, the other rock thudded across a stretch of rickety floorboards. This place was quiet, insulated from the dangers posed to the other pieces. Exactly the sort of clue that could help him regain his bearings.

The little pebble embarked on its survey, traversing the woodgrains in search of a path. If players had walked here, there would be a pattern, a steady slope that gradually descended toward an eventual exit.

The gentle cadence of a wrist stirring an aromatic tea below roused the slew of little rocks from their programed bout of drowsiness. Crisp steam billowed upwards, condensing along the rounded pebbles as peppermint fragrance welcomed the beginning of another day. They hadn't always started this way. Sometimes, Borris would find himself in hot pursuit of a vagabond bust bunny, rumbling across the rickety floorboards with the determination of an underdog racer. Other times, he would awaken within the translucent tunnels of a gathered bedspread, ever-shifting as its narrow passageways opened and closed around the unpredictable dance of stirring limbs. But today....ahhhh, today was peaceful.

Except --

A sudden jerk yoinked him away from his routinely sauna as comforting dewdrops flung from his porous surface. There was a wave of panic, followed by the usual confirmation of a high-pitched whine. Heat rapidly encased him as emotion thrummed through a morse code of heartbeats. Elora was shocked -- afraid. No, angry..........excited...?

Chair legs creaked and squealed like chalk on pavement as his player abandoned her seat in search of...something...perhaps, someone.

In the blink of an earth, he was transported to a cosmos of colors. Musty scents and elaborate patterns smudged in space as the two of them embarked on a desperate journey. Their only objective? To heed the call of another invigorating quest.

***

Elora | HP: 760/760 | EN: 110/110 | DMG: 21 | MIT:78 | ACC:5 | AA | EVA:1 | BH:38 | REC: 4 | FLN: 8 | BLI: 32/-20 | STC: 40 | LD:2

A cocktail of uproarious reactions swirled within her as she struggled to suppress her dislike of the tiny devil. What right does it have to invade our home? Ruin our reunion? Destroy what we've built --?, came an onslaught of angry thoughts. Staggered huffs escaped flared nostrils, teeth sinking into the trembling edges of her lower lip. You're fine -- neither of us are hurt, it's in a bottle. Freyd has it under control., she reinforced his assurances. Regardless of whether or not they actually instilled any comfort, Freyd deserved her patience. At the very least, whatever traces of it she could muster.

Lingering scowl followed his stare as both inspected the creature with opposite conviction. Where fear and disgust arose in her esophagus like the unwelcome return of an earlier meal, Freyd's eyes seemed to brim with an unbridled sense of...wonderment. Instinctually, the harshness of her gaze began to soften, her fists finally loosening as they relinquished their strangle-hold around her staff. Dismissing the spear, Elora inched closer.

"Do you have...any clue...?", she reluctantly muttered. Resting her chin over top his shoulder, she glanced down at the captured homunculus. Like an oversized fish trapped in a too-small tank, it circled the glass, gelatinous appendages twisting in an indistinguishable mass as jagged teeth attempted to devour its slippery prison.

Palpable worry gave voice to a quiet groan as Elora remained apprehensive to its eventual release. 

If there was ever a time to be thankful for a pain-suppression system, it was beneath the torrent of a thousand different plates and blades. A waterfall of assorted weights barreled onto them both until she was certain that neither was capable of resurfacing for air. Despite her overdramatic resignation, Elora swore she could hear -- feel the motion of something rummaging through the cataclysmic clutter. A sudden squeeze around her calf startled her as she attempted to wriggle her weapon free from its gooey prison. In the aftermath of it all, whatever thing had possessed her clothes was now schlorping across her chest and arm.

Hands failed to tread the sea of discombobulated refuse amidst its oppressive pressure, her voice squealing and making vague threats toward the tentacles that tickled her skin. "W-when I get out of this -- I'm turning you into a calamari hors d'oeuvre!", she swore with vengeance.

Successive grasps urged her to reconsider her original assessment. The gentle caresses, now constricting her thighs, then her waist, were not the product of another spirit gone rogue, but the touches of her lover, scaling her body like some sort of prehistorically-oversized jungle vine.

How romantic.

"You're okay,", came Freyd's belated reassurance as he attempted to salvage her from the pile of debris.

An obstructive cloak swept from her face gave way to a considerable inhale as Elora feigned an otherwise-inevitable suffocation. "Freyd!", she called out with coquettish spectacle, "You saved me!"

Precious moments flitted away before Elora registered his attention on a much smaller, much more dilapidated item perched in his palm. Turning to regard her with one bulging, mischievous eye, she immediately reciprocated its sight with the tip of her serrated blade.

"Wait... Wait.  WAIT!", cried Freyd as he lunged forward to shield the inky homunculus, "It's just a baby!"

"A BABY WHAT -- ?!", she yelped, "A BABY MIMIC -- That could be anything, Freyd! LITERALLY anything!!" Withdrawing her weapon, she did her best to explain to him, "How do we know that's really what it looks like?? What if it's not the only one --" The rosy color of her face went pale at the thought. "What if it goes back into the walls -- we don't know where it will go next --!"

Elora yelped in equal surprise and terror as the suit of armor suddenly hoisted her from the ground. With arms pinned to her side, she resorted to kicking her heels back and into the mail's scalloped plating. The fruitless effort did little more than create a cacophony of clangs and scrapes. "You mangey, cunt, I will END YOU!", she threatened with a fuming hiss. Taunting and downright infuriating cackles were its only response.

Normally, biting would have proven a viable next resort. Unfortunately, the thought of sinking her teeth into a steel vambrace filled her with a comparably, far greater sense of dread. "F-FREYD, DO SOMETHING!!", she commanded as her partner appeared to come to his senses.

"Let go, you little menace!  Or, so help me, I will peel you open with a spoon!", he threatened in equal measure.

Well thanks -- I could have said that!, she scowled as Essential Verdigris coalesced into her hand. "Let's see how much you like the taste of steel!", she huffed, prying the blade of her weapon between the connection of kneecap and sinew. In an instant, the insidious laughter was transmitted into squeals of agony. Elora would have almost felt bad for the creature if it wasn't such an elusive asshole. As if out of panicked desperation, tentacles released from the armor, sliding down the length of its forearms and tunneling directly into her...

The sequential crackle of ripping seams was immediately disguised by the sounds of a cataclysmic collapse. Thudding and clamoring echoed from all around, ricocheting from the walls with a prolonged and deafening crescendo.

Amidst the avalanche of chaos, Elora had been released from the soldier's strangle-hold. Falling onto the ground, she brandished her spear overhead, instincts demanding a shield from the impact of plummeting objects. 

That was easier than I expected., she mused, admiring Freyd's own conviction and willingness to change. Or, at the very least, to consider the prospect of undertaking such a monumental endeavor. Fashioning her spear into a sort of walking stick, Elora slinked behind her trailblazing partner. Their 'path' ahead, however, appeared more obscure than the majority of Aincradian forests she'd ever had the displeasure of bushwhacking through. Clutching the weapon even closer to her chest, she did her best to squeeze between towering stacks, maneuver around strewn piles of potions and armored plating. All the while, she went against Freyd's instruction, sending cautious taps from the pointed blade or its hefty hilt to test the integrity of anything she dared traverse.

By the time they'd trudged only a few meters in, items had begun to slide and fall from their perches atop many others. It was as if journeying through the junk was like entering a living organism, one whose sensory network sent distress signals to every other corner of the room. An unexpected squeal diverted her attention from exploring the metaphor any further. 

"What was --", she exclaimed just as Freyd had done the same. Before she could even ask, whatever poltergeist they'd been chasing had lurched into the air. Like a sticky hand slapped onto the underside of a ceiling, the creature suctioned around Freyd's face, reducing his screams to a horrific muffle. Elora immediately brandished her spear, her mind, blessedly, sparing the seconds necessary to refrain from severing her boyfriend's head from the rest of his body.

"WHAAA --! F-FREYD, HOLD ON! DON'T PANIC --!!", she cried out, her brain in limbo between several different responses. "W-WHAT DO I DO?! STAY STILL FOR A SECOND!", she demanded as limbs erratically swayed and slammed into their surrounding objects. As if by some hilarious and cartoonish law of nature, the piles around them began to shake. Elora watched in disbelief as mounds of the horde began to teeter and cascade into one another like calico dominos in the distance. Shaking hands tried and failed to aim between the slim hit box of the the insidious abomination and her lover's countenance.

With no other means to save him, she cast her polearm to the current of clutter and dove into the fray.

A fumbled step forward guided one leg up and over Freyd as he slid beneath her. Like the clumsy dance of a overburdened waiter, she pirouetted around his limbs in search of safe footing. The tender embrace of a lime-washed wall broke the momentum of her fall as palms smacked suddenly against its surface.

"Damnit.  Almost had it.", she could hear him exclaim exasperatedly.

Releasing a sigh of relief, she rolled around to regard his predicament. Eyes made landfall on his most favorable features before tracing their way up to study his expression. "Where did it go --?", she asked confusedly, her gaze following his own, "Beneath the door?" Finally approaching his side, she offered him a hand to help him onto his feet. 

Elora gulped nervously as the two of them approached the sealed threshold, spear manifesting into her grasp as a necessary precaution. Raising it in defense, Freyd flung open the door to reveal...another wall? Steady blinks ushered in the slow, deliberate deciphering of what she was looking at. Not an abandoned expansion, nor Winchester influence, but a haphazard horde of trophies and trinkets strewn from floor to ceiling.

"Sweetheart...", she began, taking great consideration not to divulge his name, "I thought you'd left most of this behind at your shop --" Sights scaled the impressive collection in search of anything recognizable. Chaotic and vast in its occupation, it both appeared and smelled like the ink-heavy I Spy books she would scour through as a child. A part of her empathized with that rekindled sense of nostalgia, a hand reaching out to flop affectionately around his shoulder. This could mean a lot to him...I should handle it delicately.

"Well...", said Elora, "Where do you think we should start...?"

"What the fuck --?", she gasped in response to all of the information. An entire floor...without safe spaces., it felt necessary to repeat. Still, the concept felt foreign, impossible to digest. How were players meant to navigate an entirely new land without the security of anything to fall back on? Just like how we started., came an unexpected reassurance. She supposed there would always be teleport crystals, at the very least.

Sprinting after him with equal anticipation, she tried to answer his questions. "I don't know exactly -- while you were gone, maybe...halfway into the raid? Toward the end of it all?", her mind raced as they skidded around a corner like the ragtag cast of Scooby-Doo characters. "I haven't seen it -- I don't think. Aside from the mirrors it's mostly been a fleeting presence, shadows out of the corner of my eye --" Creaks and groans reverberated as heels thudded across hardwood floors that buckled from the force of their impact. From below and beside them, she swore that she could hear the sounds of something borrowing into the walls. It was as if a very fat, very drunken rodent, had determined to tunnel through them in pursuit of foodstuffs on the other side. 

"Well, but there's also -- your parts of the house have been acting a little -- weird?", she confessed with a shrill inflection. Reaching the center stairwell, Elora hopped onto the descending banister, gliding across its length with the elegance of dizzy giraffe. Outstretched arms did little to balance her as her spine arched forward and back, threatening to capsize on more than one occasion.

By the time she'd reached the opposing newel post, she had nearly caught up with Freyd. As if by some godforsaken miracle, the protruding woodwork seemed to darken, then melt with the ferocity of a burning candlewick. With an uneventful landing, her imminent demise had been transmuted into a peaceful disembarking. A moment spared to cast a dumfounded stare on the...had it already vanished? Shaking herself from the disturbing illusion, she continued to race after her partner. "There's umm -- there have been a lot of uhh -- glitches.", she tried to explain.

As Freyd rambled on about nicknames and smorgasbords, it was evident that Elora had taken his denial to heart. With arms crossed, she appeared to swell with frustration. Arched brows framed the edges of a reddening face as she perched on her toes to bolster her height. "I'm narrowing it down!", she finally insisted with a huff. Her partner appeared to saunter away, whether beckoned by curiosity, or as a means to evade her rising emotion.

"...So, what actually happened? All you've told me so far is what you did to offset a thus-far-mysterious mystery.", he demanded as fingers swept away the coverings of a nearby mirror. Faced with the reflection of himself, she could hear him gasp, "Holy... is that... me?". Footsteps fell quickly behind as Elora dashed to close the distance between them. The projected image contorted before her very eyes, mouth twisting into a cheshire-like grin as darkness seeped into the space around him. In a matter of moments, he had morphed into something monstrous, unrecognizable.

"THAT!", she answered, her body lunging between him and the mirror to sever its link. A sinister hiss crackled from behind her, shadow streaming up to billow toward the ceiling above. Lights surrounding them began to flicker, then dim as the cackle echoed eerily throughout the entryway. Elora's gaze shakily followed the specter's retreat until sinking downward to rest on Freyd.

"Are you ok?", she suddenly asked as concerned hands shot out to grasp the sides of his head.

Releasing a soft sigh, she hand-waved away his suggestions. "Spare me both, I'm just here to gather myself.", she flatly stated, unaware of the phrase's complimentary admission. Briefly returning her attention to one of the flowers, she uprooted the entire plant with one, concentrated tug. Its straw-like stem snapped just beneath the head of blossoms as each petal dissipated away in a shower of pixels. "Dammit", she cussed beneath her breath. For as long as she'd lived here, she had never quite gotten a handle on the technique necessary for gathering wild plants. With legs extending, she turned to face him, an empty hand draped haughtily over one hip.

 "Everyone's strong -- ", Elora insisted as a smirk crept its way across the corner of of lips, "You must be pretty new to be making observations like that." Cocking her head to the side, she studied him. Red hair appeared uncharacteristically pristine beneath and above the influence of his 'filter', a long black kimono falling flatly to the ground beneath him. Not much of a fighter., she crudely speculated. At the very least, she couldn't imagine someone being able to maneuver in a gown like that.

***

Elora attempts to gather:

ID: 240111, LD 4(+2) = 6, Failed

Somedays, Elora loved to embark on far-off adventures in search of exotic foliage. Today, however, was not one of those days. In the aftermath of avalanching change, all she desired was a sense of ease. Questing was a never-ending reality as new obligations seemed to shoe-horn their way into her life on a daily basis. The result was an overwhelming sense of panic, and of exhaustion. Was it possible to experience both at the same time?

Before she could justify her intentions, Elora had found herself on a route to Floor 1. Unconscious steps carried her across expansive fields through the meadows of temperate forests until she had come to rest at...

Inhaling deeply, she indulged in the sweet, velvety scent of periwinkle flowers. Or, at least, periwinkle-colored flowers. She wasn't entirely sure on their taxonomy, just that they smelled fucking amazing.

A faint shadow swept across the corner of her vision, causing her to flinch and meet its gaze. Except, there were no eyes to greet her, but a singular symbol painted onto some sort of bandana? Squinting, she could distinguish it to be another, much more scrunkly depiction of an eye. What the...?, she wondered as a potent wave of deja vu suddenly washed over her, Can he even see underneath that? 

"Uhhh, hi --", she greeted, intentionally docile so as not to startle him. Meanwhile, a flood of memories gnawed at that back of her conscious, reminding her of one of her earliest encounters in Aincrad. It was the day she had chosen to become an Alchemist. Running into a purple-haired man she had mistakenly assumed to be blind, the two of them had spent the entire day and night searching for herbs among these vary grounds. Strange to think she could encounter someone who prompted all of that as a mere product of their attire.

"Ok so, I'm just gonna come right out and ask", she brazenly began, "Are you actually blind, or is that just a fashion statement?"

***

Vanity tag: @Jackpot

Elora | HP: 760/760 | EN: 110/110 | DMG: 21 | MIT:78 | ACC:5 | AA | EVA:1 | BH:38 | REC: 4 | FLN: 8 | BLI: 32/-20 | STC: 40 | LD:2

"Not dust bunnies -- I think it might be a demon.", she stated matter-of-factly as teetering footsteps carried her around the protective symbol's perimeter, "Or some sort of fae-folk, I'm not sure yet. Probably best not to call each other by our names, just in case --" We'll have to come up with codes names! Unless...do 'Freyd' and 'Elora already count...?

A clumsy procession nearly capsized the poor girl as she fumbled forward and into their kitchen island. With a final heave of effort, she forcefully lugged the basket smushed between her up and over the counter's ledge. 

" I -- ", she began with breaths dramatically staggered, "It started when you were gone -- didn't you ask about the house?" The intrusive thought was disregarded before he could even answer. "Well -- the house is fine, I think -- but I think we got haunted. I don't know how or why -- what I could have brought home with me that it bonded to...Anyway -- so I went out and got all of this.", she said, gesturing vaguely to all around them. "The upright horseshoes are a game-changer, and I think that crystals and salt are supposed to purify or something? Got all the mirrors covered just in case, but I figured I'd also try my luck with crosses."

Too much information., she reminded herself after catching Freyd's glance. It really had felt like forever, waiting for him to return. With a sheepish blush, she withdrew to silence, her hands determined to unload the vegetables with the speed of a salesclerk about to miss the next big match.

"Oh yeah!", Elora exclaimed as if suddenly remembering, "I wanted to have something ready for when you got back -- I completely forgot --!" A derailed sense of urgency towed them both toward the entrance of her greenhouse as she confidently assured, "I should only need to get a few things..." Stepping in to the enclosed garden immediately wafted them with warm air and the comforting aroma of freshly-watered soil. Drawing in a deep breath, Elora basked in the fleeting afterglow of babbling brooks and rolling green pastures. For all those she'd encountered in Aincrad, none had remedied her sense of longing for the Emerald Isle. In all actuality, she hadn't found herself missing her homeland until only recently.

"This really was the perfect spot.", Freyd admired in equal measure, "It suits both of us, apart and together, and brings me happiness and calm just by being here, especially with you."

"Yes", she found herself agreeing, "I don't think I could have imagined a better life --" An unintended admission. She had meant to agree with the location. "I -- I think...", she started her recovery, "I look forward to the day that this doesn't feel like a dream, when I can allow myself to enjoy it fully, knowing it can replace what I used to call home." Or perhaps, that was the issue, attempting to substitute the ambience of a place that would forever remain so completely unique from Witherwind Rest. "Or...not replace", she corrected as they walked, "I want to make new memories with you and establish new traditions."

As they passed by a slew of tools, Elora paused to grab a wicker basket lazily discarded near the site of a well pump. To make boxty I'll need... Instinct directed her to a bed of ripened potatoes. Plucking one plant with a concerted tug of its towering stem, she shook off any residual clumps of dirt before gently placing it into the basket. 

"I'll have to go back to floor five, at some point, and bid Persi a proper farewell...", Freyd began, his voice laden with sorrow, "No one's quite been able to tell me what exactly happened to her, but she was gone when I recovered...I'm fairly sure that only reason I'm still here has something to do with why she isn't."

A subtle motion across her hand signaled Borris's shift over to Freyd's. As a sign of condolence, he rolled across each of their wrists, the pebbles of his body slinking and weaving between their grasp like a sort of ceremonial knot. With a pointed strengthening of her resolve, Elora willed herself to return to her task. Marching between the rows of her garden, she harvested a little of whatever she could find: onions, peas, corn and carrots -- an extensive assortment of herbs. Now was not the time to dwell on familiar fallbacks but to cement the fortified groundwork of days to come. Her left hand strained beneath the weight of the produce, her mind temporarily blind to the utility of inventory consignment.

"Whatever you want do next, wherever we choose to go from here -- we can do it after we've had a proper meal.", she triumphantly declared, "I'm going to make us a shepherd's pie!" Even if I've never tried to before...

Each step toward their front door warranted another careful adjustment as the abundant haul threatened to sever her arm from its shoulder. Almost there., she reminded herself with staggered breaths. By the time they'd reached the entrance, her right foot had begun its wobbly departure from the ground. A moment's hesitation was enough to prompt Freyd to open the door on her behalf. "Oh -- thank you --", she huffed as they nearly walked into a hanging metal horseshoe.

"Careful for that --!", she called as they ducked beneath the suspended charm. Once inside of the house, Freyd bore witness to a myriad of curiosities. Horseshoes and crucifixes crudely nailed above every threshold, rows of colorful crystals lining several windowsills, the reflective surfaces of mirrors and other objects smothered beneath heaps of...unfolded laundry?

"And watch where you step --", she added for good measure, "We shouldn't disturb the pentacle!"

From within a whirlwind of scattered books, spanned a large, pointed symbol, meticulously constructed entirely from salt. Seemingly unbothered by the sight or any of its relevant explanations, Elora shuffled toward the kitchen with another, far greater concern.

 "How should I prepare the potatoes...?", Freyd could catch her mumbling to herself.

Taken aback by Freyd's sudden shift from downtrodden despair to uplifted exaltation, Elora cocked her head to the side and stammered, "Just -- what...?"

"How is it that we always see only the best in each other, but never ourselves?", he seemed to ask, almost wistfully.

The final traces of tears trickled down her cheeks as she stared at him confusedly. With a hand lifted to cusp around her own, he stepped closer still. Ensuing admissions did little to dispel an intensifying suspicion that she was somehow misreading the situation. After all, that was hardly a rarity for her. An uncertain mind searched for accidental causation as Freyd continued, "...But someone else showed me how much more reason there is to live. She's grown so much, blossomed to fulfill the promise of her full potential..."

Her gleaming eyes, now strained from crying, darted around to the cadence of a fluttering heart. Somehow, in the unfurling of this moment, she had once again found herself carried away by the changing currents of several conflicting emotions. Vibrant in all their consequence, she witnessed the presence of each, allowed them to course through her. Thoughts that were once so loud and scattered seemed to hush in service of witnessing their song. Although her heart and body remained attuned to the whims of every sensation, she found peace in recognizing her mind's ability to spectate the experience rather than vie for control over it.

"I'm not going anywhere, ever, and I don't care how absurd it is to say it...", Freyd began,"And if I can stave off death once, you can be damned sure I'll do it time and time again, so long as it always brings me back... to you."

Relief dispelled the swirling worry of her possible misunderstandings, hope beckoning her to fall into his touch. Loving arms wrapped around his waist as desire towed him into a passionate kiss. Even if his promises were true, she needed to know his embrace again, feel the electric synergy of another connection shared. In the flurry of oxytocin, a singular thought rose to pervade to above all others, I need to marry this man. 

♫ The Hand of Fate ♫

A trembling hand raised to cover Elora's mouth as she stared crestfallen at the haunting claw marks. Scars carved so broadly across his body she could hardly imagine its remains. Anything indicative of Freyd would have been lost to a corpse maimed beyond recognition. Shrill whimpers mourned the scene of his demise, her pain scarcely disguised beneath the veil of a palm. A sharp drawing in of her breath could not recall the tears that were pouring from her face. Grief beckoned her to tear her sights away from him, to deny confrontation with a reality too gruesome to come to terms with. Instead, she found herself immobilized by a gripping fear, a sinking terror that if she abandoned him now, there would be nothing left to return to. 

“All I saw was a flash...", he began to describe, "There was a hum, like the dying ambient charge of a monitor being turned off, the last potential energy ebbing from its circuits and fading."

Memories of her own demise at The Storm's behest coursed through her, flooding slumbering synapses like a sudden spell of deja vu. She could recall every sensation, feel them submerging her body. Coldness, stinging, asphyxiation. Then, a numbing rush of dread as the final traces of hope were forcibly extinguished. Elora had been made to spectate all of her failures. Every part of her she desperately tried to reject, every potential future she had inevitably fucked up.

Except...she had survived to experience that very future. In the wake of indescribable suffering, she had been given another chance, the gift to continue living. Is it possible to mourn the loss of something that is yet to come...?, she found herself asking. Years flowed by as she continued to write her story. Through daily efforts to become that idealized self, she had undertaken new responsibilities, confronted the shadows of her own past, allowed herself to be loved by the people she treasured most. How many more adventures would she truly taste...how many more tomorrows could they hope to go on living?

"...I’m ashamed that I chose to save a friend instead of choosing to come back to the woman who means more to me than the world itself.”, Freyd softly spoke.

On the not-so-distant horizon, death loomed like an all-consuming wall of darkness behind their celestial dance. Encroaching and inevitable, it would seldom claim them both. There was an unspoken comfort in the delusion of that unified departure. Surely, two souls bonded in life would make their exit much the same. They both understood the folly of that wish, lamented in the harrowing loss of that fated separation. When the other had vanished completely, there would be nothing left but the brightest and darkest memories of times once shared; the minutia of what transpired in between lost to the static of a faintly-held impression fading into bitter obscurity. What was left of the future would remain unwritten, resigned to a figment of what would never be.

Pleading gasps dissipated like the ghosts of false assurances, her throat constricting as she struggled to digest the impermanence of it all. With a shaking hand, she retraced the edges of his jaw. Her eyes affixed on each detail, she seemed to search his features, study every blemish and contour of his face. How could she hope to memorize the smile lines of a man who was ever-changing?

"If not by your hand, then by whose...?", she barely managed to speak, a faint smirk curling from the corner of her lip. "Never be ashamed of who you are, or for the action you take, Freyd. You are so brave, and so selfless...", she trailed off, swallowing dryly, "You are -- the most important part of life. The reason I have kept on living, the reason I will continue to --" 

Another pang of despair.

"My greatest sadness will be an absence of you.", she sincerely admitted.