Freyd

That stung...

Spinning to pin Sally's whip against the alley wall with his uninjured leg, Freyd used his body weight's momentum to close the gap and hammer the possessed mob with a series of strikes.  It was enough to knock her momentarily to her knees, her health bar dipping dangerously low.

"Yield!"  Freyd's command went ignored, the battered woman's haggard appearance and bulging bloodshot eyes making her look like she'd gone completely insane.  

"We do not yield.  We infest and consume, and you will be next.  All shall be our feast, in time!"  Her cacophonic multi-layered voice grated enough for Freyd to suggest she reconsider by driving his elbow into her already spurting nose.  Somehow, adding more red splatter to her dress didn't seem likely to be helping, but it couldn't be helped.

"Star!  Tell me things are under control in there!"  He could likely take Sally down with another blow, but the tides would soon turn against them if the rest of the crowd went feral along with her.

Alright... we might need to get a bit creative with this one...

***

Sally slumped, the wind having been literally knocked from her sails and subsequently rent sheer through by Morningstar's follow-up.  Unfortunately, he overreached in his zeal and did precisely what they didn't need by bursting back through the tavern door.  Inside, the patrons of the Naughty Pigeon paused their drinking for the second time in mere minutes to see the blonde swordsman come crashing in once more.

"Sally?"  A wizened man sitting at the bar spilled beer all over his long white beard seeing Freyd and their favourite bartender tangling with supreme lethality.  "Wha... What's going on?!"  

"What is it this time, Alfred... oh.  OH!  GUARDS!!!"  That did it.  The entire bar was up in arms a moment later, rushing towards the door and barreling towards Morningstar who stood to get overrun if the mob turned hostile like their lady had.

"Awwww... shit."  Freyd knew that it was a simple stroke of bad luck.  He'd had plenty.  But they really didn't need to whole town turning on them, and the added fear that they'd somehow end up getting tagged with orange for circumstances beyond any of their control.  "I'm really sorry about this, lady."  A sudden burst of speed propelled him into the still-recovering mob, plowing his shoulder into her midriff in a full-body tackle that folded poor Sally in half and sent flying into the same alley where this whole business had begun.  Samael's Pride flared from the impact, scouring away half of the poor NPC's skin and surface mesh as its inner hunger fed them to oblivion.

"Keep them inside," Freyd barked, following her in and struggling to come up with a way to reverse whatever curse had befallen her from the clothing.

***

"Dangerous killers?"  Freyd repeated Kyo's words hoping that doing so might offer greater clarity.  "As opposed to the not-so-dangerous ones?"  He laughed at the absurdity, knowing what she'd actually meant. It just sounded funny in his head. 

"You're not wrong about the insidious types, mind you.  I've met a few in my time, and am still trying to figure out whether Dazia counts as one." A shrug signaled that the jury was still out, preferring to lean into the more esoteric topic of professions.

"Nothing forces you into any particular combination.  Mats are mats, at the end of the day.  You could fish up the raw materials for heavy armor, or conversely turn tin plates into perfume or bacon and eggs."  He blinked.  "Okay, so now I am hungry."  Fortunately, Morningstar had his back and perfect timing, as usual.  Catching the sandwich with a single hand, he downed half of it instantly.  The fish must have sensed his moment of weakness and took their chance to go after his lure, forcing him to leave the food dangling from his mouth as he focused on reeling them in.

"There are plenty of players who've contented themselves with trying to scrape out a normal-ish existence in this world.  It's harder than you might expect, but possible.  Some people tend their trades and shops full time.  Others scavenge the materials crafters need.  Brokers, for example, live and breathe in a whole different world than most front line adventurers.  Theirs can be a particularly perilous life."  Adding his support to Vigilon and Morningstar's comments on the matter, Freyd also found himself agreeing about the Lake of Reflections. 

"This place can be absolutely beautiful, most of the time." A certain tiny shirt, torn to shreds by some unknown assailant under Tanabata's lights suddenly came to mind, forcing Freyd to wince at the notable exception.  It still stood out as one of his most painful memories through years of living in this world.

Sidestepping a failing Vigilon, Freyd somehow managed to reel in his catch, long with a small loot coffer that came as a bonus.  Several item prompts popped up as he opened it, and just as quickly vanished when dismissed to join a heaping pile of similarly unidentified items waiting in his inventory. 

"I really needed to clear out my inventory at some point.  Hey, Kyo, what kind of weapon are you using?  I might have something for you."

***

Fishing ID 219189 | CD 8+1=9 | LD 16+1=17 | +1 Material | Critical Catch!
Practiced Angler: (+2 EXP/attempt, +1 CD, +1 LD when fishing)
No Olympic Fishing Tool
R5 Fisher | CD 4+ for mats; LD 8+ for Chest, CD 12+/LD 17+ for Gleaming Scale; +5 to LD when opening fishing treasure chests)

Opening Fishing Treasure Chest | ID 219190 | LD 12+5=17

T4 Perfect Weapon 219190a
T4 Perfect Weapon 219190b
T4 Rare Weapon 219190c

Decapitated, the sole remaining mob's body collapsed under its own weight and converting into a pile of stardust on the ground.  Once more, everything about them vanished saved their long coats, Even pierced and cut to ribbons, they somehow lasted beyond the deaths of their wearers, denying another Cardinal rule.

"Glad to hear you're alright," Freyd offered, not believing it for a second, but accepting that he'd probably deny the seriousness of such injuries himself if their roles were reversed.  "I don't know what the hell is going on around here, but I don't like it in the slightest."  Nudging the clothing with his boot caused them to tear slightly as their ripped edges caught against uneven floor boards and tore further.  Ahead of them, inside the tavern they'd been about to enter, someone cleared their throat.  Looking up, Freyd wasn't expecting a packed studio audience, the entirety of the bar being completely packed with every NPC staring wide-eyed in their direction.  They'd just watched the whole scene unfold.  And, by the looks of them, all were struggling with their internal programming to decide on how to react to its impossibility.

"Oh, for goodness sake," came a female voice from behind most of the others.  A small middle aged woman with a hearty pioneer's build came forth, a dish rag draped over her shoulder, and heavy work boots clomping loudly on the wooden floor in contrast to the stunned silence.  Grabbing the two coats, she draped them over her arm and shooed the two players outside so she could close the door behind her. 

"Look, I don't know what you two are thinking or how you even pulled off such a thing, but there'll be a heaping load full of stinky trouble once the Lord Magistrate finds out you killed two of his men!"  A certain frantic panic grew behind her voice even as her words became quieter and quieter.

"Who the heck is this magistrate?  What is going on around here?"  Freyd's patience was wearing thin.

"SHHHhhhh!!!"  Sally's eyes flared wide as she gestured for him to keep his voice down.  "Are you daft or something?  He's the Crown's man in these parts - which mostly means collecting taxes, throwing his weight around and declaring his latest word to be the arbitrary law of the day.  You two louts will just have brought his..."  Her voice trailed off as confusion claimed her expression and she looked down at the garments in her hands.  "What the...  URK!"

Sally's form suddenly twitched, twisted and shifted undergoing some strange and sinister metamorphosis right before their eyes.  Odder still, colour seemed to bleed from the coats in her hand, fading to a dull, lifeless grey and disintegrating to dust.  The jackets held by Freyd and Morningstar did the same, wispy strands of powdery red filament coalescing around the woman whose moans and groans became increasingly abrupt and desperate.  Where the clothing lost their hues, the weave of her dress suddenly became laced with the same brilliant reds.

"It's like watching the decade-long colorization of 1950s television happening in a single moment," Freyd muttered, his eyes narrowing with apprehension even as he moved to stand between her and his injured companion.  Whatever was happening, the system wouldn't let him target her to do anything about it, at least not until the transformation was complete.

Her eyes snapped open, expression bearing nothing but malice, clothes turned to brilliant, scarlet and blazing with a palpable, seething hatred.

"That wasn't very nice, meddlers.  You messed up our play things.  Now we'll have to do the same to you!"  Her voice was no longer singular, sounding more like a half-dozen separate speakers overlapping in a badly broken chorus with mixed pitches of male and female tones.  Clenching her hands around the rag draped over her shoulder, the cloth twisted and elongated into a nasty, barbed whip, lashing out towards her nearest target.  

"Sorry, lady."  Dodging and grabbing the whip as it struck, Freyd yanked and pulled the turncoat forward.  Persi burst forth from his own garb and slammed hard into the woman's chest, Freyd following up with a massive headbutt that left the mob reeling, blood gushing out of a badly broken nose.  "I'm not letting whatever this is get the better of us a second time."

***

"Wait a sec... Knights of Cinnabon?"  Something jarred deep in the recesses of Freyd's memories, urging him to ask Vigilon for clarification.  "Aren't these the same jokers you picked a fight with back when we first met on Floor 8, or wherever?  That time when I walked away from a pointless and unnecessary fight.  Please tell me this isn't some sort of persistent personal vendetta you've got against them.  We do have a raid to get to, after all."  Freyd hoped that highlighting their status as frontliners might give the two mooks pause. 

Meanwhile, his thoughts drifted to other intruding memories of steaming hot, glazed cinnamon pastries from his youth, leaving him drooling slightly and licking his lips.  The reaction must have seemed strange, especially taken out of context.  The whole exchange between the two knights, Vig and Krysta had left him a bit lost and confused, wondering why they'd not just gone around these people.  Everyone had a world-ending conspiracy in their pockets these days, or so it seemed.  Leaning up against the strange box-cage thing, Freyd casually ignored the growling from within, patting the top of the box with benign disinterest. 

"A delivery, you say?"  Feigning curiosity as he finally turned to address the two belligerent thugs, Freyd stumbled acci-deliberately, catching himself on the edge of the cage and tipping it towards the two knights. He was hoping that whatever was inside would pounce on the first thing it saw - and also liked the tasty smell of cinnamon.

"Trying to make me look bad by actually showing up on time?"

"Why would I bother?  Your fancy new getup must take hours to put together." Freyd's instantaneous retort to his guild mate was accompanied with widespread teasing grin to match his backward compliment.  The 'Cerulean Storm,' as he'd once dubbed her, had certainly grown into her own.  His manner left no doubts about his pride in her accomplishments.  "Besides, I needed time to find my fish repellant."

Returning Nari's nod respectfully, it hadn't surprised him in the slightest to see the invite come from her.  The woman was fearless, and possibly self-destructive, but their recent adventures together had proven most intriguing.  'She'd make a fine addition to Firm Anima,' he thought to himself, acknowledging that he'd never asked her whether she had already joined a guild.

"I completed this ordeal once, a while back, and before the whole Flood of Shadows affair."  His eyes darted quickly to Katoka, worried that mere mention of it might trigger some resurgent trauma.  "It's been buggy ever since, or so I've heard. We don't get much player traffic in Angel's Point, period, these days.  As odd as it sounds, this quest used to be a big draw.  Not so much, anymore.  The outcome does improve conditions across the floor, for a time, but everything gradually dissolves back into the current state of decrepit sludge.  Kinda sad, really."  Looking wistful, Freyd led them towards the next step in the quest, taking care that everyone had what they needed before they left.

"I think they've tried, but the reset button is so gunked up with zombie slime that they can't get it to work," he added, snickering at Morningstar's suggestion to wipe the floor clean and start over.

They'd reached Miraak at the cathedral by the time he'd finished relaying his experiences, Freyd's eyes glazing over as the priest droned on about his sordid tale.  "I'm still convinced that Cardinal has some sort of major CPU node or backup memory bank concealed in this thing," he mused towards Morningstar while they listened.  "Even after a year's effort, I've yet to find a way to get inside.  There must be a dungeon key somewhere that will do it."

Chomping down on his own snacks as they listened, Freyd offered his gugnir's feast while Nari laid out her own larder on offer.

"Well gang, are we taking down some bronies today?"

"Sure!  I came all this way, after all."  Kat would know that his house was literally down the street.  "Can we rebrand a bit and just admit that we're all heading to 'Daemon's Butt', instead?  I find it really helps to lighten the mood and set a better tone for the rest of the quest."  Grinning madly, Freyd led them the rest of the way.  Chuckling at Morningstar's volunteering for demise and equally prompt withdrawal. Freyd offered his own two cents on strategy, slipping back into tank mode from the last raid.  Maybe it was because all of them had been there and knew the importance of discipline in these things.

"Morning would match up well against and benefit from defeating Death.  Katoka might best be paired against Pestilence, given his DoTs and her single target specialty.  I'd suggest Nari take on Famine to help buff her  potential damage output against the Monstrosities.  That leaves War for me, which is probably wise, since the extra attacks he can grant can suck up energy like Katoka on Sam's ti...OOF."  

His friend's elbow had found its familiar mark in his ribs.

*** 

Freyd uses tracking on <<War>>

Furious at Cardinal's flagrant violation of its own rules, Freyd grabbed the butt end of the nearer attacker's halberds as they drew it out of Morningstar's gut, sympathy pains flashing through the back of his mind as he recalled suffering such grievous injuries himself.  Fortunately, Morningstar was made of sterner stuff and withstood the treacherous blows where a lesser player might have expired instead.

'Thank goodness,' Freyd sighed silently in relief.

Yanking downward and pulling back, the blade on the redcoat's polearm caught the mob in his own abdomen while Morningstar leapt and cleft his shoulder from his torso from above.  Swiveling the haft like an oar in a rowlock, the Whisper thrust again with all his might, spearing the other traitor in the arm and forcing him to loosen his grip on his weapon.  A swift kick to the back of the first guardsman's knee wrenched his polearm free and into Freyd's full command while he crumpled, flailing backwards to the ground.  Driving the haft back into the stunned man's face, Freyd literally broke him, shards spraying like a burst sack of flour all over the floor.

The other redcoat swung, missing wide as his target bent awkwardly backwards.  Freyd looked like he should have broken his back, the angle unbefitting of any endorsement for spinal care.  Even as he did so, his right leg lifted with a twist, catching their lone remaining enemy under the chin with enough force to launch him hard into the lintel over the door.  The entire building shuddered from the impact, with the mob slumping back down and bracing against his own weapon as a crutch to keep from falling prone.

"Nobody does that to my friends," Freyd seethed between clenched teeth, signaling to Morningstar that revenge was his for the taking.  His eyes faded from black to burning azure blue instead, and in that moment, Freyd looked eerily like his own familiar.

***

Loot Surly Redcoat 1: ID #219154 | LD: 8+10=18 | CD: 2
4900 col (HP[700]*7 - incl. +4 CD/LD even)
T4 Rare Consumable 219154a
T4 Rare Weapon 219154b

Noting the growing fatigue behind Wulfrin's voice and gradual slowing of his motions, Freyd slid forward to deliver a little delayed action aid and lesson in the subtleties of combat in SAO.  Tumbling past his companion towards the creatures flank, he gaze it but a grazing touch.  Wulfrin would see a sickening purple miasma gather like an ethereal cloud about Freyd's hands as he delivered the blow, dodging gracefully away just as quickly as he'd approached.  Mama Boar squealed and shuddered in seemingly disproportionate pain and her joints locked and froze with rictus, her eyes bulging wide at the unexpected reaction.  From the point of impact, violent violet lightning spread across her body to deliver a lethal withering blight that would consume her from within.  

Freyd stood nearby, watching with a slightly saddened expression on his face and hands stuffed into his pockets once more.  This fight was already over.  It took another moment for the contagion to spread, the mob's skin blistering, then beginning to flake away to reveal the orange model mesh beneath.  It's health bar suddenly plummeted to nothing.  One final twitch, as the poison in its veins denied it anything more, and she collapsed into a cloud of fractal motes to be carried away like dandelion seeds upon the wind.

"Well fought, champion."  Freyd's voice could have just as easily been mistaken as belonging to some NPC trainer, save the slight hint of regret over the cruelty of the critter's final moments.  "We should get you back to Lyle," he added with greater cheer, urging the new warrior back towards town.

***

Freyd regains +4 EN
Freyd regains 62hp from BH
Not worrying about Recovery...
Cooldowns: Grappling Familiar (2/5)

Post Action | Basic Attack (1 EN): 1 EN - (Stamina) = 1 EN (minimum)
Free Action | None

ID #219150 | BD: 9 (Crit +2).  DMG (3-5=1) to Mama Boar.  Paralyzed.  Blight applied.  Static applied.

Wulfrin | HP: 40/40 | EN: 3/22 | DMG: 4 | ACC: 5 
Freyd | HP: 1140/1140 (1139+62[cap]) |  EN: 151/152 (151+4[cap]-1) | DMG: 21 | MIT: 45 | EVA: 2 | ACC: 7 (incl. AA) | BH: 62 | LD: 6 | BLGT: 32 | PARA IMMUNE | P.V.O | REC: 8 | STK: 40

(2,7) Mama Boar | HP: 0/60 | DMG: 15 | MIT: 5 | EVA: -1 | F.Stun.Imm (3/3)  (36-1-32-40)

Watching an entire suite of emotions play out in the subtly shifting features of her face, Freyd's eyes held fast to neutral for reasons Nari would have no ability to know: he simply didn't know what expectations to play to in such situations, and so abandoned any and all pretense.  He was just trying to figure her out, and himself in turn.  Clearly, his words has struck some deeper chord.  Which?  How?  Strange how he so desperately yearned to know.  Maybe because he sensed that they were more alike than either of them could admit to the other.

"Not frighten you...I wish I could hold your views on it..."

Shadows like whispers and Whispers like shadows, feasting upon their utterings.  

"What prevents that?" The question was genuine.  Oddly, they all were, though it likely seemed to his questionees like they were being subjected to an inquisition of personal character.  Freyd knew his intensity could be offputting.  It spawned the goofier and more unorthodox aspects of his demeanor in order to generate and offset his own dichotomy.  His companion fell back a step, stranded amidst doubts.

"I won't be the one who puts it down, if the queen decides to reject it."

"Hrm.  Interesting that you would grant her the authority to decide."  It was merely an observation made as he slowed to stillness while Nari moved past to make her declaration.

"We have chosen to spare the Treant's life, as prisoner of war it is under our protection and I will not suffer any who wish to bring it harm."

Tiny traces of a smile crept across Freyd's face in admiration.  Whatever struggles burned within Nari, she was choosing to take the principled stance - drawing a moral line in the sand.  He approved, wholeheartedly, for whatever it was worth, offering the slightest nod to Haelia and Arun in the background to support Nari's declaration.  Should the NPCs wish to take offense or stand in opposition, they needed to know that both players stood united.  Nari's eyes bore forward, but she would recognize the sound of him slipping his hands into hidden pockets - a trademark tell Freyd often used to diffuse tension or signal his lack of opposition in a given situation. 

Though new as queen, and blessed with the immortal youth of elvenkind, Haelia was among the few remaining elders of her people.  A hint of tension flashed across her brow at Nari's statement, easing as her eyes momentarily darted behind the armored knight.  Freyd's eyes beamed back at her from beneath his cowl, daring her to do the right thing.

"Your actions were not those of an elf," Haelia began, "which was precisely why we needed you."  Arun suddenly seemed confused.

"Our people and passions have been too roused by years of blood and strife.  They could no longer make the choice you made.  We needed outsiders to take the stance and leap our hearts were too embroiled to permit.  Thank you both for proving our trust in you to be correct."  She offered the smallest of bows to them both, drawing gasps of awe and reverence from her retinue.  An elven queen deferred to no one in her own domain, and yet she just had.  A small elemental fire spirit hovering near Arun's shoulder flares, as if brooding and drawing in any ire to feed its ever-burning flames.  Freyd wondered how much influence such spirits had over their wielders, and whether or not their ambitions might have sparked this conflict in the first place.  The elves had always been a bit too proud of their magics.

"Thanks to the nobility of your deeds, we may finally have an opportunity to end this crippling conflict."

"But, your majesty," the commander interrupted impertinently, wilting just as quickly under the withering glare she gave him.  Even his flame familiar died down beneath her gaze.  Haelia had just demonstrated her worthiness as successor to the throne, at least in Freyd's mind.  "We just lost thirty men for this?!" he muttered incredulously.  

Head twisting like a hound's trying to decipher a newfound scent, yet also a familiar one, Freyd listened carefully as the spoke her piece.  The echo of the hollowness within her resonated within his own heart.  He knew that void himself, all too well.  

"So, we're actually not that different after all."  Gone was the distended form and surreal demeanor.  He was but a man again, plain and utterly forgettable, as intended.  The plays and guises of an all-too-familiar skill receded into nothingness once more.  It came so easily when beckoned, now, than it even did before.  His face flashed a haunted look of familiarity with trauma, dealt with through anguish and suffering, yet also reflected that sameness like a mirror to Nari's own demons.  The same, yet not the same.  They were kin enough for his tastes.  There was always nuance to such things.

"Ahhh.  So that's why she was crying that night." His thoughts strayed to a near-forgotten memory even as he placed his emphasis, of NIGHT fleeing a tourney without explanation.  Another woman had been with her... familiar in so many ways.  He thought he'd seen the two of them together at the party - a tournament of some kind.  Such was his nature to watch where no one else did, after all, and the swordswoman who'd set him on his own path had always been especially coy and elusive.  Maybe it was a leap or guess at stray connections, but dropping the name in such a manner might shake loose other clues.  If nothing else, Nari's reactions could be telling, assuming she didn't just try to stab him.  Doing this in a safe zone had been more prudent than while they'd been outside the walls.

Freyd's slowly and casually crossed his arms before him, choosing to be deliberately disarming in his bearing.  This wasn't an interrogation.  In truth, he been concerned about the woman who might be called his doppelganger, or he hers.  Anything that could so deeply trouble her was worth investigating.  Nari was a curiosity herself, now that she had opened up.  Forming a threadbare connection between them hadn't been expected in the slightest.  Hadn't they fought in the tourney?

He should have been concerned and disturbed by the manner and substance of Nari's response; any sane person would have been, especially given her combination of fervor and detachment.  Except, he knew the headspace she described.  He'd lived there in solitude for countless years before ever entering this digital prison, and also afterwards.

"No one who enters this world was anywhere pleasant before."

'Truth, yet also not quite on the mark,' he thought to himself, his expression easing further in unexpected contrast to normalcy at such a declaration.  Such thoughts and experiences were far too familiar for him to recoil, which he realized was also telling about himself in this exchange.  A flash of memory at his younger hands wrapped around Kyle Breckenridge's throat and squeezing flashed before him, as did thoughts of his nemesis in a wheelchair afterwards.  Real world hands?  He wasn't so sure anymore.  And what did it matter once you were resolved to your fate?

"So," he replied with deliberate pause and surprising sympathy, his voice barely above the breeze, "you did know love."  Was it longing, admiration, or maybe simple envy in his tone?  She couldn't be sure, probably because he was uncertain himself.  "And you found purpose in your tragedy.  Good."  Pursing his lips and nodding as if settling an internal debate, he offered her a simple grudging smile, as if a chapter had suddenly been closed in an undisclosed volume of unspoken histories.

"Maybe the truth is that we are both monsters, and also both not, and that our choices will define how we are judged, judge ourselves, and judge each other.  What you describe does not frighten me.  I've seen that emptiness and lived it too.  Now, I wonder what the queen will have to say about her new prisoner..."  Fortunately for them both, he meant the treant.

And, with that, he pressed open the palace doors and entered.

"We could ask the local guard, or sheriff - whatever they use around here.  Mounties?  Wouldn't that be ironic?"  Gathering up the remaining coats, Freyd returned to the main thoroughfare, searching for any other matching garments or evidence of local security.  "I've seen pocket combat zones within safe zones before," he offered.  "They'd not common, but I stumbled into one in the Town of Beginnings, ages ago, when I was just starting out.  Some ghoulish thing feigning childrens' cries would lure players into a dead end alley and then ambush them.  Noob players would forget or simply not know the warning markers, unaware of the actual risks.  Still, it's been a long time since I've seen its like."

Flipping one of the coats inside out, he noticed that the interiors were badly frayed, as if more heavily worn than the outer layers.  Many loose threads curled out from the worst of the worn areas, drifting to litter the ground as he manhandled the clothes.  

"Not exactly fine craftsmanship, are they?"

Turning again to head into the bar, Freyd ran headlong into two large, burly fellows who were emerging at precisely the same moment.  They were dressed like soldier, each carrying a hefty steel halberd whose highly polished heads gleamed in the brilliance of the midday sun.  Their surcoat marked them as military men, though something about the arrogance of their demeanor suggested that their presence here wasn't on friendly terms.

"Gads, Chadwell!  Can't you keep from stepping on the locals?"

"'pparently, not,"  hiccupped the wall-of-a-man who'd just run into Freyd.  "The Lord Magistrate won't appreciate local folk getting uppity in the presence of his retinue, I expect.  What say we thrash these two as an example to the rest?"

Freyd rolled his eyes in response, ready to counter and diffuse until he caught a closer look at their clothes. The red dye in their surcoats was precisely the same as that found in those of their assailants.  And yet, their uniforms were clearly foreign-made compared to other visible dress and craftsmanship.  Accustomed to dismissing such bluster while in safe zones, Freyd ignored them and slid between them with his typical agility, only to realize too late that their icons had suddenly shifted to red.  Eyes wide, he turned as both guard leveled their weapons and impaled his friend.

"Oh, like FUCK you just did that!"  Freyd barked, menace palpable in his voice, despite confusion over how they'd managed it in the safety of the town.

Every shadow within line of sight suddenly swelled and lengthened, their inner darkness responding to the call of something familiar... the rallying cry of something primal and ancient, also thought destroyed.  A vestige remained, it seemed, as Freyd's eyes flickered to full black and shades of every kind detached themselves from their owner to stand beside him like a phalanx surrounding the two soldiers who instantly refocused their attention on the slender boy who'd just slid past, now looming threateningly before them.

"What the..."

"What's with the..."

"You want to mess with someone?  You mess with ME.  Now, let's just see how well that's going to go for you..."

***

"There it is!  Keep that up," Freyd offered by way of encouragement, watching Wulfrin manage to do what was required.  There was no mockery in his tone.  Countless players had died at the tusks of such creatures in the earliest days of Aincrad.  Boars still claimed far too large a portion of the names on the Monument of Life.  Figuring that the threat was now controlled, his own strikes drawing attention away from his companion, he hoofed the portly piggy on the backside with a gentle tap - just enough to count as a hit without taking away from Wulfrin's efforts.  

"Are you feeling that drain, yet?  That's what happens when your energy reserves get low.  Learn to recognize it.  It could save your ...oof."

Not appreciating his mentoring efforts, Mama Boar had leapt up and thrown her entire weight upon the Whisper with the least graceful belly flop in recorded history.  What first sounded like muffled cries were soon revealed to be laughter as a largely uninjured Freyd struggled to dislodge the heavy beast in its infuriated state.  The absurdity of it all was just too rich not to enjoy.  Every time he started to lift it off, he'd start cackling madly again and crumple under it once more.

***

Freyd regains +4 EN
CD 12 (+8 REC proc) ID #219071
Cooldowns: Grappling Familiar (1/5)

Post Action | Basic Attack (1 EN): 1 EN - (Rested 1/2; Stamina) = 1 EN (minimum)
Free Action | None

ID #219072 | BD:3+7=10 (hit).  DMG (1-5=1) to Mama Boar.

ID #219073 | MD: 9 (Crit +1).  DMG (16-45=1) to Freyd

Wulfrin | HP: 40/40 | EN: 7/22 | DMG: 4 | ACC: 5 
Freyd | HP: 1139/1140 (1140-1) |  EN: 151/152 (151+4+8[cap]-1) | DMG: 21 | MIT: 45 | EVA: 2 | ACC: 7 (incl. AA) | BH: 62 | LD: 6 | BLGT: 32 | PARA IMMUNE | P.V.O | REC: 8 | STK: 40

(1,4) Mama Boar | HP: 47/60 | DMG: 15 | MIT: 5 | EVA: -1 | F.Stun.Imm (2/3)  (48-1)

Freyd's head popped up out the sand like a strange prairie dog, dirt bursting forth and spraying the surround area while also suffusing the tangles mop that was his hair.  Static still fizzed through him, the strange denizens of the depths clearly not appreciating his intrusion into their domain.  To be fair, he had no idea what he was swinging at, other than its oddly blob-ish shape.  Watching Katoka sail overhead with her own blistering zeal and electrocuting strikes, he couldn't help but wonder whether the two might repel each other if similarly charged.  Surely, such a thing would end up as a raid boss mechanic someday...

"How. How do you mange this? I swear your luck is astronomical."

Smacking his lips while extracting himself from the Freyder-crater he'd just created, he merely blinked a few times and shrugged.  There was also a good chance that his eyebrows were still smoldering.  Bending down to pick up a shiny bit of coral he thought might look pretty in Elora's hair, the hurtling jelly flew precisely where his head would have been.  Sheer dumb luck could also be a valuable ally.

"Careful now! I'm guessing this thing packs a bit more punch than a bit of static shock!"

"Huh?"  Perking up again, he finally clued in that they were still in combat.  Smacking sand-caked lips, and spitting out the granules that kept trying to infiltrate, he saw the mob turn and spin back towards him.  In the moment before it would strike, Freyd merely held out his hand and open palm, release the keener void within Samael's Pride, hoovering the entire mob into oblivion in a single casual motion.  Not even a single tiny fractal spark survived.

"Oh, good.  So, we're both not dead then?"  Apparently, his brain was still rebooting.

***

Loot Squishy Jelly Fishy 1: ID #220217 | LD: 6+9=15 | CD: 2
2800 col (HP[400]*7 - incl. +4 CD/LD even)
T4 Rare Trinket 220217

Freyd slowed his unrelenting march, mid-step, twisting and craning his head to look upon his companion. The gesture verged on the uncanny valley in its hyperextension.  

'She's a thinker,' he realized. 'How refreshing.'

"I suppose that really depends on who you consider to be the monsters."  It was a statement, not a counter.  Delivered without judgment or apparent prejudice, Freyd's unusual response clearly came from someone who went to great lengths to ensure he was normally difficult to gauge. The scene they'd just shared was rarer than most could ever realize. 

"You speak as if this world, and maybe the one before, have taken things from you.  If so, I'm sorry for whatever those might be."  His nature urged him to pry further.  It was his  manner to gather, investigate and discern, but was this the place or time?  What about permission?  How would one even obtain it, save to first ask the question - which she had invited through her own?  He'd likewise tipped his hand to a far greater degree than he would otherwise consider, especially for one he knew so little about.  Maybe... maybe by daring just a little more?  Appraisers loved to weigh the odds, and were gamblers at their core.

"Who were you before this world, Nari-not-Lanreth?  What rouses the awareness behind those doubts?"  As the questions parted his lips, Freyd wondered whether it was as simple as the role of tank and matching awareness of mortality's foils that went hand in hand.  'You never see PK tanks,' he realized as an odd aside, shuffling the thought aside for later consideration. Was this what insights were afforded to the daring and selfless, or was it the reverse?  Was it loss or fear of loss that pricked the senses to a wakened state?  If so, then why had he questioned himself for so long?  He was no tank, and certainly no hero, yet had found others turning to him to be both.  He was that very thing she warned about... wasn't he?  Or maybe he was the foil designed to keep them in check?

"I'm curious because this world, in its own alien strangeness, made me whole in a way the other never could.  I come here, like I did today, because its mobs remind me of people and why true monsters need to be kept at bay.  What were you looking for?  A quest?  Those are everywhere.  What brought you here?  Who are your monsters?"

Halting mere feet away from the palace door, they'd traversed most of the City already in their ponderous silence.  Now his curiosity was roused, and he dare not enter lest the quest distract from true importance.

Freyd smirked, watching Wulfrin stare at the red vial with wonder, then that moment of dawning realization of a massive mother boar barreling down on him.  Ah, the good old days...

"Persi, be a dear and buy our friend a little time,"  he spoke aloud to no one in particular.

A small amorphous head of inky blackness poked up from the collar on the right side of his neck, opening twin azure orbs adorned with horizontally slotted pupils.  The tiny thing's muzzle wrinkled and sniffed, then darted with the speed and silence only a shadow could achieve.  Persi closed the distance almost instantly, popping up beneath the boar to resume three dimensional form and solid consistency that wracked the beast with a most unexpected uppercut, utterly ruining its charge.

Freyd tapped Wulfrin in the shoulder to rouse him from shock, then pointed to the dazed and up-ended boar lolling around on the grass mere yards from his backside, the pleased as punch silhouette of a mongoose grooming herself atop her victim.

"You just triggered the local boss mob.  I suggest you take advantage before it recovers."

***

Post Action | Basic Attack (1 EN): 1 EN - (Rested 2/2; Stamina) = 1 EN (minimum)
Free Action | Grappling Familiar (CD 0/5)

ID #219052 | BD:7+7+1=15 (hit).  DMG (1-5=1) to Mama Boar.  Familiar Stun applied.

Mama boar stunned.  Stun fades.

Wulfrin | HP: 40/40 | EN: 10/22 | DMG: 4 | ACC: 5 
Freyd | HP: 1140/1140 |  EN: 151/152 (152-1) | DMG: 21 | MIT: 45 | EVA: 2 | ACC: 7 (incl. AA) | BH: 62 | LD: 6 | BLGT: 32 | PARA IMMUNE | P.V.O | REC: 8 | STK: 40

(0,2) Mama Boar | HP: 59/60 | DMG: 15 | MIT: 5 | EVA: -1 | F.Stun.Imm (1/3) (60-1)

Grabbing both distracted thugs by the scruffs of their respective jackets, Freyd yanked, smashing the questionable contents of their skulls together with a hollow *clack*.  As they rebounded off each other, a curt shove to accelerate the motion drove their aching faces into the stone walls on either side of the alley.  Both men dropped to their knees, clenching their poor, battered heads, wondering what was happening.  They still hadn't clued in that Freyd had vanished from sight, though both were also rather discombobulated.  A pair of lightning quick kicks shattered their digital forms and sent orange fractal shards spraying across the cobblestone looking like twin barrels of spilled marbles.

The last of them was still shying away from Morningstar when his head suddenly lurched backwards to meet the Whisper's swiftly rising knee.  The sickly crunch soon turned into the scintillating shimmer of similar shards to match that of his brethren, which was suitable as he'd just joined their fate.  Strangely, when all three bodies dissolved, the jackets they wore remained.

"Uh... that doesn't usually happen," Freyd surmised, giving his best scrunchy face of confusion.  Glancing over to his fellow appraiser for confirmation, he bent down to inspect the abandoned gear.  There was nothing remarkable about it, being standard cut brown leather coats of apparent local make.  Each had the same red, padded interior lining woven in loose textiles that showed bits of goose down stuffed within for warmth against the cooler edges of autumn weather.

Turning his attention towards where the woman's body should have been, Freyd found it gone entirely.  Only the bloodstains of her fate still darkened the ground where she fell.  

"Damn.  Aincrad's OCD about corpse disintegration can be a real drag, sometimes.  Can you make anything of these?"  He tossed on jacket to his friend while sifting the last of the mob dust with his boot, as if hoping for clues.

***

Note: Slain mobs do not meet loot minimums.

"There are limits, but you can skew pretty deep.  What you'll come to realize fairly quickly is that any choice in one direction is a trade-off against the benefits of another.  Gear counts for a lot, for example, but the math if governed by choices.  It's like those guys who excel at crunching all the numbers to tell you how to optimize your build to play in your latest favourite MMO.  Put twelve of them in a room and you'll get eleven different reasons why their is the best, and one bitching about how they can't get enough advertisers on their stream and it's all your fault."  Freyd blinked.

"Sorry.  That might have been a flashback.  Not really sure. Moving on."  Walking casually as Wulfrin continue his baconator murder-spree, he went on to explain.  "People get all hot and bothered about unique enhancements on their gear, for example, but other than on weapons, standard enhancements are generally better - again, depends on the build.  I don't know... maybe it's all just downhill after paragon 50, you know?  Maybe you don't - yet - but you will.  I'm rambling, and going to go over here now."

Freyd conjured another honey bun from his nowhere and promptly stuffed it into his mouth wholesale to shut himself up.

Freyd listened to Vigilon's recounting, solitary eyebrow raised by the quirky fickleness of fate.

"Wait... does all that have anything to do with why we usually meet with you falling out of the sky?  Oh, and thank you for offering, but I ate before I came," he added, patting his flat and unassuming stomach.  "Standard pre-raid procedure.  You know how it is."

"I'm afraid what he says is true, Vigilon has no shortage of enemies, including ones that will make war against him upon sight, even monsters with a neutral temperament have had hostile reactions to his presence from time to time. Why that is, however, I currently do not know."

The other eyebrow raised, and deadpan delivered an unbidden comment.

"Have you considered switching aftershaves," he suggested, jokingly.  It took him a moment to catch Krysta's meaning and distinguishing of 'raid' versus 'floor battle'.  Everyone uses their own jargon, and her mannerisms were unexpectedly formal.  'Must be a princess thing,' he told himself.

"Freyd, you have experience in the front lines, so you must know at least a fair hint of the path you believe Night has cleared for us, correct? Even if we run into any monsters, the path she traveled should still be the safest route for us."

"Umm.  Yes?  I was planning on doing just that before I ran into the rest of you.  Others will be gathering as well.  The sheer amount of frontliner traffic converging on one place should help keep the path clear."  Shrugging, as he had no other plan to suggest, he was quite content to follow hers as outlined.  "I have some modest talent as a scout.  Hopefully, it will steer us clear of trouble, despite Vigilon's strangely afflicted fortunes.  But, there are no guarantees."  Spoken like a true merchant.

"Floor bosses are unpredictable," was all that he could offer Morningstar in response.  "I've only seen a few, so far, but each has been considerably different from the others.  Just keep your teleportation crystal warmed up, in case.  If there's anywhere you are most likely to need it, this will be it."

Oddly enjoying the role of informal sensei, Freyd had never actually pictured it for himself.  Yet, truth be told, it was one he'd donned many more times than most would ever consider possible.  Offering only a smile at Wulfrin's venting.  The life of an appraiser was to make the RNG your nemesis and savor those fleeting moments when fate intervened to give you something that wasn't a complete and total piece of crap.  Good times.

"I won't pretend to sit here and give you tips to instantly improve your game.  Experience and time are the best teachers you could find, though maybe the system would enable a few useful shortcuts.  We'll get to those once you've gotten your gear.  In the meantime, keep at it.  I'd say you've already gotten the gist, and a good knack for it to boot.  Practice will make it easier."  Echoes of his own origins flittered behind his eyes, taunting him with awkwardness that made Wulfrin look like a total star by comparison.  He chuckled without explaining, waving off any questions about it and flicking a finger towards another boar.

"Have at it.  These things don't quite manage to kill themselves."

Watching Nari move was a marvel.  He'd never actually fought in heavy armor himself, but every other carapaced veteran of the game he'd ever fought beside couldn't hope to match her speed or flexibility.  In a strange way, it was a rare treat of refreshing novelty.  But the equally unexpected turn in their continued conversation was what pierced his casual nonchalance about such things.  Nari had struck a nerve that he rarely, if ever, allowed to be exposed; multiple, in fact.

"Call me naive, but...what are your thoughts on i-"

Right.  Combat.  Eyes on the ball.

The treant's size and sheer physical brutality impacted the gate, it's heavy leaves visibly shattered at several points by the force of the blow.  Neither player looked much worse for wear, signaling the relative scale of effects in play.  Freyd's machine mind was already triangulating optimal attack vectors, ready to call his 'Pride' to hand and smash this would-be assailant to ashes, backed by a selectively fiery sword art that struck him as ideal for these circumstances.  Something gave him pause.  That other self, stirred by the image of green hair, scent of special tea and elongated ears - the same worn by the elven children surely watching in terror from above.  They knew terror.  Though trivial a battle, for them their home hung in the balance. 

Wrath.

That all-consuming void - partially imbued by Shadow's touch and legacy - called from within for their enemy's utter destruction.  End the threat.  Slay the monster.  Be the monster!  Instincts or programming?  Which was calling to him with these thoughts?  Some days, he wasn't really sure anymore.  It would be so easy...

The memory of warmth pressed against his shoulders under shades of moonlight.  A hand pressing against his own as his body shattered into a thousand scintillating shards hanging on the brink of oblivion, called back with a plea and a cry.  Someone cared, and reminded him to do the same.  Perhaps she taught him what had always eluded his ability to rationalize - adding kindling to a fledgling flame that nurtured it into beginnings of alien passion, and eventual compassion.  The Shadowed Rose pinned to his chest and concealed beneath a fabric fold, yet dearest to the thing he called his heart. 

What doth believe the Thing Behind All Lies?

Intent was instantly repurposed as boundless conviction flared behind Freyd's scowling azure eyes, the tenets of a sneer forcing themselves upon his lips, yet not for malice or destruction.  This was fulfillment of an oath given to a robe made and paid for in the blood of guilt and innocence alike.  It was a promise and covenant of hope.  Dodging the treant's wild, slashing swings the Whisper weaved and wobbled as the wind dancing through its branches.  Time slowed for him in its pacing as the power grew.  Shaping fate did such a thing when wielded by those under contract.  Miasmic haze of black and purple wreathed his hands as he neared his goal, parrying its last, desperate defenses and pulling back to strike.

Thunderous force, like a gale wind focused precisely to a point, struck a knot and weakness in the treant's bark and shell, already fractured by their prior yet biting assaults.  The trunk folded inward against his fist as a snap cracked the air and bent the tree near in half, shedding half the leaves from its canopy by whiplash alone.  Sap sprayed sideways all around, the very fibers within the creature having compressed beyond their bearing, shooting out of every break and cut including its eyes and mouth, then dropping harshly to the ground like a bathtub full of water conjured in mid air.  It's face contorted with pain that couldn't be, repealing anger to reveal despair.  The treant felt the end of its existence as that same miasmic haze spread along infectious veins through every part of it.  Bark flaked off.  Its few remaining leaves withered and fell like ashes from above.  Desiccated from within, it shuddered in its entirety as it creaked and slowed, while Freyd's awareness of time resumed its proper pace.

Precision.  Threshold achieved, and on the mark.  His voice neutral, yet verging on the realm of sympathy, Freyd spoke softly.

"There is still time.  Will you wield?"

The monster twitched, wrenched by the fury he'd unleashed within it and quickly drawing its existence toward a painful, terrifying close. Here was the futility of war summed into a single moment, and the very rarest of opportunities for change.  Easing the clenching of his fist into an open palm, Freyd slid it upwards to caress what might pass as the mob's cheek with surprising tenderness.  

"For all of us, ...please."  Looking up, the dark concealment of his cowl fell back revealing the least and last of expectations: tears of inky shadow dribbling down a face locked in fiercest determination, jaw locked and set.

"There isn't much time."

The tiniest hint of motion returned to their foe, enabling it to turn its awkward glance down, even as its body crumbled all around.

"I... willl.... yiellldddd."

Leaning forward to press his head against its withered form, Freyd delivered it the antidote held ready in his other hand.

"Thank you," he offered, eyes closing even as Persi's inky form slithered up from within his clothes to coil herself about his head and hide his features.  Even her lummox deserved some dignity, and she would ever be his cowl.  Turning and stuffing his extinguished hands back into his pockets, head dipped low to focus on the ground, Freyd strode slowly and pensively back in the direction of the palace.  He paused, but for an instant, and turned only slightly towards Nari.

"You have my answer.  I hope it means something."  And then he carried on.

♪ ♫ ♪ ♫

***

Vanity Tag: @Elora @Raidou

Freyd regains +4 EN
Freyd regains 62 HP from BH
CD 9 (+8 REC proc) ID #219022

Post Action | TECH-D (x12, 12 EN): 12 EN - (Rested 1/2; Stamina) = 9 EN.  
Free Action [Item] | Rhino's Horn

ID #219023 | BD: 10 (Crit +3).  DMG (12*27=324-95=229) to Treant.  Blight applied.  PVO applied.  Wooden body blocks Static.

Treant is paralyzed and suffers 32 blight damage.  Mercy triggers.  Combat ends.

Freyd | HP: 1140/1140 (1085+62[cap]) | EN: 144/152 (141+4+8-9) | DMG: 21 | MIT: 45 | EVA: 2 | ACC: 7 (inc.AA) | BH: 62 | LD: 6 | BLGT: 32 | PARA IMMUNE | P.V.O | REC: 8 | STK: 40
Nari-Lanreth | Lv. 33 | P. 54 | HP [1,081/1,081] | EN [84/106] | ACC [6] | DMG [12] | MIT [209] | F.AURA [32 MIT; 16 DMG] B.Healing [+59] | STEALTH [-5] |  FRSTBT [40 DMG; -1 ACC] | THORNS [72] | PARA [8+] | HM [+4 B.DMG] | +4 EN +59 HP | -13 EN
Ellesmora Gate | HP 400/500.

[2,4]Treant | HP: 279/450 | MIT: 175 (-60 [2/3], -20 [1/2]) | DMG: (See Shockwave Punch) (279-229-32)
Abilities:
Shockwave Punch | Every turn, the Treant shall use this attack spreading its damage between every single target in the vicinity. Deals 300 mitigatable damage spread between all players and the gate. This attack will not miss. For example: If there are two players taking this quest then both players and the gate shall take 100 damage per turn. 
Burning Timber | Should the Treant be affected with a Burn ailment, its Mitigation shall become 0, its damage output will double, all Burn damage to it shall be doubled and the Mercy effect will no longer be an option. 
Wooden Body | Treant is not affected by any DoT effects other than Burn and Blight. Treant is also immune to Stun attacks. 
Mercy | Upon reaching 50 or less HP, the Treant will surrender and no longer attack unless the player attacks them again. If this option is chosen, begin the Mercy Ending. 

"Fishing is about a lot more than just catching fish," he replied coyly, a wistful smirk spreading across his lips.  "The rest really needs to be experienced to learn, though we could try it if you wish.  Kyu doesn't seem particularly keen, but maybe we could offer some conversation in exchange, at least to pass the time until something else is selected?"

Dismissing his bag back to inventory, Freyd wandered out into the water until it rose to the level of his knees, not bothering to remove his footwear.  Antiquated rod already in hand, suitable bait was promptly summoned, hooked and cast with the hand of a practiced angler.  Hook, line and bobber sailed through the air, landing in the drink some distance away and closer to the depths.

"And yes, the lake is definitely warm enough to swim.  It's also why it's typically so great for fishing," he added.  "But if you're going in, would you mind tossing me a sandwich, and maybe watching your bits around my bobber?  I wouldn't want to hit anything important."  The smirk broadened to a full-fledged grin.  "The future Mrs. Morningstar would likely not appreciate the perforations."

Turning his attention once more to Vigilon, he became pensive once more.  

"I tend to take a very pragmatic view on people who earned themselves an orange cursor, or otherwise performed deeds that should have done so.  The simply truth is that there are only so many of us in Aincrad - players, that is.  And every time one of us dies, by any means, our odds of getting the rest out typically get a little bit worse.  I'd much rather see everyone marshalled towards that singular goal.  Those who choose to actively work against that can be incapacitated or culled.  I really don't care which.  It's unfortunate, and nasty, possibly cruel, but also unavoidable.  If anyone has a viable alternative, I'd love to hear it."

Meanwhile, Freyd casually sat casually in a third-hand lawn chair cobbled together from stray bits of refuse and detritus strewn about the sludge fields just beyond the Liminal Blind.  Awkwardly functional, yet tastefully macabre, the egregious bit of furniture looked like Frankenstein had taken up carpentry, but used his own parts.  Relying mostly on congealed zombie drool as an adhesive, bits of bone, tattered clothing, and fleshy hides whose origins were best left unconsidered, it was perfectly suited to its environs.  This was floor thirteen, or the undead-invested, miasmic wasteland that remained of it.  Freyd called it 'home.'

Currently clinging to a steaming cup of vanilla-scented coffee to ward of the local scents, he'd spent most of the morning rousing Dingo and setting the boy to task cleaning his 'shop.'  The aptly named 'Freyd Edges' was nestled in the ruins of some forgotten monastery on the outskirts of Angel's Point, blending in so splendidly with the local state of disrepair that one might easily overlook it.  That was the whole point.  Why else would he have set up shop in such a desolate landscape few dared to visit and the local trash bandits were distinguished by their particular colour of plague?  But the blissful days of languishing in a pristine modernist dungeon better categorized as a bond villain's wet dream were soon coming to an end.  He was a taken man, and his life was changing.  No one would ever have believed it was possible, most notably including himself.  Still, it felt good.

In his right hand he held a ghostly green effigy of a flower in bloom - The Shadowed Rose.  Kasumi has crafted the masterpiece he now spun slowly, pondering the undeniable influence its namesake had over him.  It had all happened so gradually that Freyd barely realized it.  Yet, closing his eyes brought back a dozen vivid memories triggering varied senses, all of them bring joy, connection and... warmth.  It was nearly time to leave this place behind and begin a new adventure, with her.

Surveying the destitute scenery and decay, it was hard to claim that he'd ever truly miss any of it.  But it had still been a home of his own making - his own fortress of solitude, finally breached and no longer necessary.  Bringing his cup into reach of his lips, fate notoriously intervened.

"I swear that the universe knows when I aim to relax and conspires against it."

Persi was simultaneously sprawled and nestled in the gap between his torso and the arm of the chair, twitching occasionally as she mauled some poor field boss in her dreams.  Nari's message popped up, to be read over the rim of an undeniable need for extra caffeine.  

"Hrm..."

Setting the cup down on a nearby crate of expended emergency supplies, Persi sniffed and peered through heavily slitted eyes, drawn by the swirling wisps of steam drifting over her.

"What do you say, Persi?  Should we go clean up the yard one last time before we leave?"

Minutes later, the two were at the appointed destination, Persi already trailing a shower of orange fractal shards from 'playing' with the local wildlife on the walk over.

"Someone said something about a janitorial suicide mission?"  There was a lilting sarcastic laughter behind the words.  "Count me in!"

***

Vanity Tag: @Raidou @Elora

Freyd consumes:

Gugnir’s Shard (Untradeable/Unique/Reusable Consumable): Crème Brûlée Tray | ACC 2 | Feast (6/6) - takes 1 portion and shares the rest with the group
Armageddon Juice (Potion) | Damage 3 | 197162
Super-Duper Anti Snake Sauce (Salve) | Antidote 2 | 197142
Madlad Muffin | Tierless Rare Meal | EVA 2 | 216699 + (Filled)
Divinity's Wait (Meal)| T4 Mitigation 3 | 188383-3
kintsugi. | TIER 4 PERFECT SALVE | TOXIC VENOM | (3/20) https://www.sao-rpg.com/topic/19383-f01r10-alchemist-cintamani-open/?do=findComment&comment=676877

Freyd | HP: 1140/1140 | EN: 152/152 | DMG: 24 | MIT: 105 | EVA: 6 | ACC: 6 | BH: 62 | LD: 6 | HLY 16 | FLN 16 | TXV 32/3 | REC: 8 | DOTE: 2/2 | VD 125

Freyd's left eye twitched and winced uncontrollably at Nari's description of Persi's owner as 'caring, capable and well-meaning.'  These were definitely not traits commonly associated with him or any of the various demeanors he so often donned while about his business.  And yet, it had been used by others as well.  Were time more permissive, he might have dwelled upon it a while longer.  Circumstance dictated otherwise, hurtling them towards yet more conflict.

"The things we do in our final hours define who we are..."

"Well put." Monologuing had never been his goal, only sharing a sliver of awareness and enlightenment gleaned through patient observation.  "And, I suspect you also mean it in the sense of our very existence in Aincrad?"

"It brings a measure of pity towards them, doesn't it? And yet, I can't help but wonder if they deserve such pity, or if it's simply a...humanistic reaction. What does that say about me?"

Piercing eyes drifted over to gaze at his companion, accustomed to judgement yet rendering none by their present gaze.  Pensive consideration flashed behind deep and cold blue irises.  "That you would even question your own assumption speaks volumes.  It's refreshing, and also heartwarming, I suppose."  The natural tensions in his stance and features seemed to ease as they passed beneath the arched gate and barbican.  Whether intentionally stated or not, Freyd admired those who were willing to question themselves and their beliefs - especially those they never realized they held.

"I'm no better equipped to answer to that bias than you," came his response, his smile growing along with a certain weariness in his eyes.  "What do you think it says?  What do you want it to say?  Those may be better questions."  Life did its thing, just then, interrupting their worthy conversation.  Nari rushed the massive treant as it emerged from the forest, darkness gathered around two hollows in its trunk and passing for eyes - angry, bitter eyes.  It, too, was an elm.  Freyd wondered, for an instant, whether he'd just been sitting on its friend.

***

Post Action | TECH-D (x12, 12 EN): 12 EN - (Rested 2/2; Stamina) = 9 EN.  
Free Action | None

ID #219014 | BD:2+7=9 (hit).  DMG (12*21=252-155=97) to Treant.  (CD 3 | ST-B locked)

Treant uses shockwave dealing...
100-209=1 damage to Nari.
100-45=55 damage to Freyd
100 damage to the Ellesmora Gate.

Freyd | HP: 1085/1085 (1140-55) | EN: 141/152 (-9) | DMG: 21 | MIT: 45 | EVA: 2 | ACC: 7 (inc.AA) | BH: 62 | LD: 6 | BLGT: 32 | PARA IMMUNE | P.V.O | REC: 8 | STK: 40
Nari-Lanreth | Lv. 33 | P. 54 | HP [1,080/1,081] (-1) | EN [106/106] | ACC [6] | DMG [12] | MIT [209] | F.AURA [32 MIT; 16 DMG] B.Healing [+59] | STEALTH [-5] |  FRSTBT [40 DMG; -1 ACC] | THORNS [72] | PARA [8+] | HM [+4 B.DMG]
Ellesmora Gate | HP 400/500.

[2,2]Treant | HP: 336/450 | MIT: 175 (-20, 1/3) | DMG: (See Shockwave Punch) | Delay [-1 ACC] (450-17-97)  ...Nari forgot to apply her damage on previous post.
Abilities:
Shockwave Punch | Every turn, the Treant shall use this attack spreading its damage between every single target in the vicinity. Deals 300 mitigatable damage spread between all players and the gate. This attack will not miss. For example: If there are two players taking this quest then both players and the gate shall take 100 damage per turn. 
Burning Timber | Should the Treant be affected with a Burn ailment, its Mitigation shall become 0, its damage output will double, all Burn damage to it shall be doubled and the Mercy effect will no longer be an option. 
Wooden Body | Treant is not affected by any DoT effects other than Burn and Blight. Treant is also immune to Stun attacks. 
Mercy | Upon reaching 50 or less HP, the Treant will surrender and no longer attack unless the player attacks them again. If this option is chosen, begin the Mercy Ending. 

"Good," Freyd replied, watching and nodding as Wulfrin dispatched the porcine critter.  "I'd say your talents are at least offering you some inherent insight into navigating the mechanics.  It gets to be second nature after a while, though also considerably more complex.  The closest comparison, I've always found, is the sort of muscle memory demonstrated by practiced gamers.  They can fly through wicked combos on a console controller, or navigate the interactions of complex macros through a keyboard without batting an eyelash.  Weird as it might sound, those are the skill sets of frontliners... except your actual life might be on the line."

Dismissing his gaudy tray back to some unknown elsewhere, Freyd went on to point at the morsel Wulfrin had taken, but yet to ingest.  "Now, try taking that and see the effects.  Aim is within your control, but also subject to the vagaries of the random number generator.  You need to be prepared for those eventualities.  Even the best aimed strike will still occasionally miss.  Conversely, even the wildest swings can still product fantastic success.  Life is just strange that way."

"Saving face?"  One corner of the man's thin slivered lips curled at the unexpected insight.  The question was directed at why her thoughts had drifted to that answer, not what was meant by it.   "Yes.  Very samurai, wouldn't you say?  Strange how these elves seem to follow western conventions, and yet... not so much?"  Mirth remained, but the fool was gone from his tone and a different glint shone behind his eyes.  Could his ramblings have been some sort of a ruse?  

"I don't think the Lord Commander Utter-Failure over there is very happy about us being here, but teach him to screw up in the first place. I'd still keep an eye out on him...I don't trust him for some reason. And after my last quest...well, let's just say Cardinal isn't so against betrayal and backstabbing."

Walking away from the palace to permit greater candor, Freyd navigated the streets expertly without any reference to a map.  He practically took them to the gate by brail, his eyes everywhere and anywhere save the direction of their travels.

"You know, if I hadn't recognised your voice I'd have never guessed it was you laying on the ground wrestling a cat of all things...far cry in appearance from the capable, strategic frontliner who led the assault against the Many Headed Dragon of Doom and Death."

"Mongoose," he politely corrected.  "She hates it when someone calls her otherwise, and I bear the brunt of her displeasure.  Nice fox, by the way.  I'm genuinely surprised that its not a more common familiar, given the game's distribution and demographics."  Freyd stuffed his hands in a pair of invisible pockets, straightening his posture and gait the moment they exited the palace.  It was like watching him become another person within the span of three footfalls, fitting in more closely with her comments and expectations.

"Elves are exceptionally long-lived, even in this world.  Have you perchance noticed how young the guardsmen and warriors about this city are?  By their standards, these men and women are barely out of diapers.  That includes the Lord Commander.  They just don't think we can see it or understand."  There was that dour, serious tone he'd demonstrated at the raid meeting and in the field against Wushen himself; Many-headed Dragon of Doom and Death, indeed. 

"These people are the products of their lineage and legacies, of untold history preserved in flesh and song.  Yet, the very age and maturity that defines them has been lost, it's blood literally spilled to the woods themselves, and for what?  Ellesmora is dying.  They know it.  They fear it.  What becomes of elvenkind when no old elves remain?  What is the value of immortal lifespans if they are cut short in their infancy."

Freyd signaled to twin youths up on the battlements to open the gates as they approached.  Even their walls were manned by children.

"Arun is a boy pretending to be a man.  He has no examples left to follow and so clings to the impetuous temptations of emotions.  His Queen, in her fury and desperation, encourages his foolishness because she feels that she has nothing else left to grasp for.  They both need jarring to displace them from their grief and ignorance.  Nothing else can save this place, but change."  The gates thundered shut behind them, leaving the two players  alone in the forest.  Birds chirped and scattered beams of sunlight danced across the forest floor to whatever magical tunes lay hidden in the winds.  Freyd sat akimbo on a nearby fallen elm, looking down upon the bough and tracing the lines of it failing bark.

"What a fitting symbol for this state of affairs." 

"Still," he added more joyfully, "I'm glad you finally recognized me."