Freyd

"Ah! Please, no more! It's gone! I swear it!" Steadying his stance, Freyd paused, hesitating just enough for the floating murk of post-flame content to settle down and allow sight to resume its function. The mob had shifted once more and assumed the guise of a young female, stout and stocky in form with a buxom figure and dressed as one might expect a lady farmer to possess. "Who are you? What happened here?" She ignored his query, seemingly simultaneously desperate and elated, and moving to embrace him like a savior. But Freyd was too familiar with the deceitful ways of

Keeping up the pressure, his enemies hissed and shifted, attempting to alter their forms to something more suitable to their ever-changing circumstances and finding it impossible. Never the type to stand as the stalwart tank, Freyd had always preferred and agile and elusive combat style based on misdirection paired with powerful individual strikes. It seemed effective, as Samael's Pride opened its maw a second time and devoured most of the male's torso, sending it to whatever void or oblivion lay beyond its touch. "Inssssolence," hissed the female, very conveniently and foolishly conf

"Catch you if you... what the..." Looking up, Freyd watched as Morningstar extricated himself from an odd position and still managed to pull off an unorthodox attack. "Nice moves, but you're no damsel in distress. If you fall, the ground can catch your ass," he call upwards with a chuckle. The golem was finally starting to rouse itself, its attention focusing down upon the Whisper even as the fire behind its eyes began glowing ferociously. "Oh, no you don't." Speed was ever in their favour. Darting forward, Freyd leapt and spun, dodging as a giant metal gauntlet sought to sw

Uh.. friendly or not-friendly? While the debate debuted in Freyd's mind, the rest of him had already decided. Breaking cover, he rushed the nearest goopy mass and slammed the screeching keen of his fists into - no, through - its left shoulder, severing most of its recently grown arm in the process. 'I am really glad I can't taste anything you eat,' he thought, as Samael's Pride bit off a chunk. Cleaving off the first hit, Freyd followed through the rest of his kata, slamming the second mob hard enough to unbalance it. Both foes flailed wildly, recovering with speed, but not enough to

Two sinuous creatures emerged from the tree line, each looking like amoeba's with severe cases of gigantism: immense, blobby looking things of near-translucent flesh laden with layers of angrily irate red veins that pulsed with sickly power as their worm-like bodies slithered into the farmstead. Moments later, they rose, standing like a pair of cobras, even flaring their pulpy masses wide and each conjuring a pair of sinister eyes. Their bloated bodies would shift to take on more humanoid forms, though never quite anything aesthetically pleasing. Both just looked... wrong. "Someone fou

"This isn't a player-crafted item," he muttered to himself, though he'd argue it was for Persi's benefit if anyone every called him on it. "So how the hell did something like this get into a mob's mesh, unless..." A furrowed brow belied furtive analysis and consideration of unorthodox options. "Could these be the actual skins worn over, or even forming the actual meshes of mobs - the very lattices that made up their models and forms in this digital world?" His eyes widened at the consequences. "Did someone find a way to scourge the mesh off a mob?" Dark. Probably too dark. That l

Something in the ashes caught his attention as he raked through the debris, peeling away the uppermost layers of the piles which were now little more than crinkled sheets of carbon paper and crumbled to dust at the slightest touch. Beneath those, however, several inches down, some of the garments could more clearly be made out. Still burnt beyond any potential recovery, it was the bits of bizarre burgundy veins laced throughout their fabrics that caught his attention. Flame could not have caused this alone. Either the original tailor had woven the strands into fabric, or someone had subseq

It was one of the great ironies of Aincrad that death left behind no evidence, especially in the case of mobs, who would typically and eventually respawn. The occasional corpse left behind by quests for plot purposes were a jarring and inconsistent anomaly, which was what made him think to look for some. Finding such evidence would imply that he'd stumbled into a quest by accident, possibly triggered by simple proximity. Arrival in Glyndebourne might have been enough to set some off. Two hours later, finding nothing, that hypothesis was sufficiently thrashed to merit discarding, save for o

Rounding the bend in the loosely defined trail and clearing revealed a far more alarming scene than he'd anticipated. The smoke had been white, and the plume modest in size, suggesting a mere cooking fire. The truth was far more tragic. It was a cottage, set firmly in the past tense. Little remained of the structure, clearly ravaged by fire to the point of full engulfment and collapse. Little remained standing save the stone hearth and chimney at the far end and the scattered implements of a devastated farmstead strewn all about. The smoke he'd seen drifted up from the stone ruins, likel

The other points of interest that Foyle and his own encounters had extricated was the repeated mention of some hoity toity 'Lord Magistrate.' "Sounds like a total git." It might have been a bit soon, but the declaration fit his limited experiences to date. "Right. Might as well start there. If this person is in charge of the redcoats, then he's most likely to have some info, or at least be at the centre of whatever this cluster *cough* entails." Downing the last drop of drink and dismissing its vacated container to his inventory for future refills, Freyd quickly surveyed his sur

Warmth from his tea cup bumped against his upper lip. Something about that drifting, unbeckoned thought had placed him in a powerful if momentary daze. Blinking, then again, Freyd's gaze lowered to the lengthy shadow stretching out from his dusty, muck-covered boots. The grass and forest floor had been wet with dew and left a damp chill in the morning air. Footfalls had churned up the mucky surface during his backwoods trek. Glancing behind him, he found no steps left to follow. Good. At least that was still working. A startled chipmunk raced out from beneath some nearby brush, loo

Foyle was the first to scout the floor once the raid was completed and access permitted by the system, but nothing in his initial surveys yielded any clues. This entire floor seemed to be modeled on the early American colonial period, save without firearms. The redcoats responding to Sally's cry had carried swords, but no pistols or muskets. Redcoats... was this supposed to be some version of the revolutionary war? Was this just another 'red versus blue' playing out in period costume? Sipping at the simmering beverage as he searched, the Whisper once again found himself in his element

Heading back to Glyndebourne was too risky and unlikely to yield meaningful results. O&I would be crawling all over that place, squeezing through a sifter to glean anything that could be found. Whatever this was had clearly asserted itself over the locals in the floor's primary settlement. The only real leads obtained during their brief scuffle with Turncoat Sally and her scarlet ruffians centred around the unusual transfer of colour between their clothes. "Come to think if it," he whispered to himself, "each time it happened the effect seemed to become more lucid, potent, and dange

A call for assistance had been their first order of business, even before leaving town. Freyd own role was too hot. He needed others to provide the cavalry and ensure that his companion could escape, plus possibly contain whatever was actually brewing in town. Dawn crested over the pine treetops on the eastern hills by the time he dared chance moving about freely once more. Donning a disguise as a lumberjack, complete with tuque, red and black checkered flannel shirt and false stocky build, Freyd went all out. Between his scruffy red-tinged beard, bushy eyebrows and a bulging musculatu

(Picking up from the end of this thread: https://www.sao-rpg.com/topic/39342-pp-f2528-the-endless-maze/?do=findComment&comment=677775) Fast moves and a nimble tongue had gotten him out of the trouble in Glyndebourne, but not without considerable effort. Half the town had been ready to march against Morningstar and himself over that trouble at the Naughty Pigeon. What could possible have caused such a complete and total mess? Mobs turning from allies to enemies, then attacking within the bounds of a safe zone? A mysterious affliction transmitted between mobs by mere contact with cl

"Same answer, really." Freyd sat perfectly still, legs akimbo and unmoving save for the occasion flick of the wrist or to collect a catch. It seemed uncanny peaceful for a man whose garb suggested a life that might be mostly led otherwise. "I can take you on a few runs. It's always tough when you are first starting out, since gear and stats can make such an impact. Visit the Knight's Shift up in Tomoika, on floor 21. You'll be perfectly safe, so long as you remain in town. Ren's the proprietor and has a soft spot for people who are just starting out." Glancing over at Wulfrin's wea

"You know that you need to eat that for it to give you any benefit, right?" Freyd watched curiously as Wulfrin accepted his starter kit, but seemed to tuck it out sight. Part of him admired the ballsy move, accepting a gift and stashing it for future use. Where others might have been insulted, his pragmatic nature was impressed instead. "Normally I'd just experiment and learn the game, but considering the GM's announcement, I feel everything needs to be figured out before going into anything outside this city." "The GM's... you do realize that was over two years ago, don't you?"

Leaping silently high into the dark, miasmic air clouding the upper reaches of the maze, Freyd flipped and twisted in a move that momentarily convinced the laws of physics to function more like suggestions. Plummeting downward, fist first, the black void wrapped about his hands ripped open the holy seals sworn to temper the infinite hunger within. Samael's Pride, unleashed, screeched like the literal hole in space that it was and plunged his hand straight through the thick metal plating on the colossus' chest. Sparks showered in reds and orange, setting the darkness alight with flares as pu

Watching the exchange left him feeling a little out of the loop. Why was a walk to the raid room being so formalized? Strict control over his facial features maintained a neutral if somewhat confused expression. "Erm... uh. Tank? I'm tanking in the raid, so... uh. I guess I'll do that now too?" His black brows furrowed slightly. "Are we expecting some sort of trouble along the way? Night is usually quite thorough. I'd be surprised to find much opposition remaining along the path she outlined, not that it's impossible." Shrugging after his own words, confusion gave way to acceptan

Freyd's grimace softened to a wry smirk at Wulfrin's boldness and consideration. 'Maybe this one's a better egg than most,' he thought to himself, before nodding in agreement. "Yeah. Sure. Why not." A shrug dismissed his prior frustrations as he reached out to firmly grasp and shake the offered hand. "There's nothing to buy here until Zack's stock gets refilled, so that seems like a reasonable plan." Slipping his hand into a pocket made invisible by the black on black clothing still partially layered in darkness, Freyd pulled out a small, plain brown paper bag. Scrawled messily on t

Massive as it was, the lumbering metal giant remained oblivious of both players as they debated. "Well, normally I'd agree, but in this case I'm going to have to insist on taking point." Grinning broadly at the twisting of his friend's intent, Freyd rushed forward and leapt hard to the left, bouncing back and forth off the parallel maze walls to build his momentum and height. Having reached a point level with its gaze, he zigged one more zag and smashed the golem across its nose with a resounding clang. Reverberating off the high stone walls, the echo nearly burst their ear drums, yet

He was late, but what did it really seem to matter? Freyd's inventory remained fully stocked and prepared for whatever might come next. His meticulous nature would ensure readiness. Everything else was gravy. Every month or so, he made the trek, adding yet another something to the pile. Maybe it would amount to something. More likely it would be wasted for the sake of preparing for the unknown. "Just in case," he muttered to himself, selecting an item that he'd avoided during past visits. Maybe it would grant him more options when it came to his next raid build, if he chose to pa

"Look, all I'm saying is that I've been here at least two dozen times to help collect the very same debt. At some point, the guy is either just blackmailing you or you've become an indentured servant, and slavery doesn't sit right with me." The speaker's voice came from a darkened alcove by the front door of Zackariah's, where a pair of oddly disembodied hands gesticulates wildly to express their owner's frustration at the mob's seemingly maligned predicament. "He's using you, Zack. And you just keep letting him do it!" Upon closer inspection, one could see the hands attached to arms,

*HACK* *COUGH* *SPEW* *WHEEEEEEZE* "SALE?!" Spitting out a mouthful of congealed lurker goo nearly caused him to retch as the lingering flavour lingered in the back of his throat. It might have caused him to turn green, but the plankton LED's someone had flicked on were thankfully masking his pallor. "That's not a sale," came his groaning, muttering reply as he deftly sat upright thanks to countless ab crunches and a system that had somehow recognized past efforts. "Those buffoons don't have sales and wouldn't recognize a bargain if you slapped them in the face with it u

Wheels were already turning behind Freyd's eyes, time permitting little other than action before any opportunity slipped beneath the wave. Physics and calculus procced internally to do what the Whisper was best at: come up with a plan. "Kat, don't hold on." Without giving any opportunity to let the oddity of the instruction sink in, Freyd gathered the pulsing energies of a sword art into his balled fist, spun, and smashed the bow of their tiny boat with enough force to pile drive a teeter-totter. With his full weight behind it, his companion staring confusedly at him from the stern