Freyd

Landing with an awkward tumble managed to dull some of the impact, but still left him surrounded by a host of angry spectral dread wolves. Startled and leaping back from the crash, he knew their moment's hesitation would be all he had to make his break and try to reach Persi's position. Hopefully, she had managed to lead their foe somewhere more manageable for a final showdown. He just needed to give these beasts the slip. "Sorry pups. No time to play today." Raking his hands across the leaf-covered ground, Freyd took full advantage of the Fall's offering and filled the air with clou

These aren't what attacked me. But who or what are they hunting? The grim beasts meandered along the floor, sniffing as they went, but it wasn't clear that they were actually looking for him. Could whatever was playing cat to his mouse equally provoke the native mobs? Could whatever twist and turn these filaments contrived conspire even against Aincrad's unnatural order? Wouldn't that be interesting...? As one, every wolf's head turned in a common direction. The pack moved as single unit, of one mind and guided by instincts combined with programming. Sensing opportunity, Fre

Snarling at his own indecision, Freyd turned back to his original course. If something had happened, there was little he could do about it while fighting on enemy ground and on the enemy's terms. Flitting across the twilight terrain in the manner his shadow mongoose had taught him, Freyd blended in with the undergrowth. No footstep, no broken branches or snapped twigs. No sign that he even existed was left behind. Finding a safer perch and observation among the higher boughs of the trees, he had previously avoided climbing out of concerns about the increases presence and density of the go

"Persi," he called out, his trusty familiar never having wandered too far afield, "See if you can buy me some time." Her scurrying form was instantly lost among the other roiling shadows, their enemy likely using the same for cover. And be careful, he added, only to himself. They had faced countless dangers together, but something about this mysterious threat seemed to break or even exist outside the regular rules and conventions of Aincrad's digital existence. Anything could happen. Dashing deeper through the tree line, Freyd was searching for advantage - any advantage - he could use

It was small, fast and light on its feet, crawling about in the treetops and clever at hiding itself. The strands provided a passing degree of ambient light. Freyd's darkvision managed the rest, giving him a clearer view than his pursuer might realize. Moving as quietly as he could to put a few of the more substantial tree trunks between himself and their suspected locations, he sought to lose them by manipulating shadows to create duplicates of himself. Nothing happened. A second confirmation that something was off, but he'd taken the chance and risked tipping his hand. Snarling from

Racing recklessly through the underbrush, Freyd couldn't even tell what he was meant to be running from. No enemy had shown itself. Other than the ruddy gossamer netting strewn overhead and all around, and a few stray wolf calls, he hadn't actually seen a single soul. The house that tried to eat him was an obvious exclusion, that being more a facet of weird vector-based environmental hazards, at least in his tech-addled mind. Slowing his pace, and his breathing, it felt weird to feel his pulse crashing against his temples like a hurricane. What the hell? This isn't like me.

"Not a place to linger," Freyd instantly decided. Dashing into the woods instead, his general lack of familiarity with the floor left him with no destination in mind. Glyndebourne was still too hot, and he'd not yet heard from Foyle or the others. Haunting woods filled with creepy fibrous badness in the dead of night really also didn't seem like the best place or time to check his messages. I need to find shelter, then hopefully contact the others. They may have found out more while I've wandered aimlessly into the wilderness. At least the notes he'd found in the Lord Magistrate's p

The day's final rays peered through the gossamer, ushered along by another rising cloud of dust and the thunder of a storm growing decidedly less distant. Only once the last of the light had gone did he realize that the remaining filaments carried a soft reddish glow that seemed to pulse along them. It would have been invisible in daylight, but now he realized how far these things extended. "Fuck. They're everywhere." The wolves agreed, howling with promise and delight in the distance. Freyd just wanted to facepalm. This really wasn't turning out to be a great day. "Y'know,

There was no warning. No ominous creaking, splintering of heavy timber or dramatic, slow-motion leaning. It just... fell over, with him inside. Springing to action was essentially pointless. There was nothing firmly fastened in the room and the decorative wall panels were too shallow in profile to offer any hope for a handhold. Freyd found himself sliding once more into darkness as the surrounding room crashed into the basement, along with most of the remaining outer manor walls. Horrid keening screeched split his ears as Freyd stepped through shadows to reappear in the darkness of t

Most of the contents were reports of various kinds from around the rest of Floor 28, referencing seditious activities, belligerent defiance of his Majesty's soldiers, and a seemingly coordinate effort to deny the royal tax collector his due. Additional guards had been assigned, but local resentment was brewing, and had apparently been for some time. Most of it was mundane and fit within the floor's historical theme. A few of the latter reports were notably stranger. A shipment of new goods from afar had recently arrived in Glyndebourne, causing quite the stir among locals and loyalists ali

Feeling around the edges of the painting's ornate frame, Freyd studied the features of its subject for clues about her parent's features. "Nothing prevents this Lord Magistrate from being a woman," he reminded himself, thinking that the sort of twist that Cardinal might introduce, just to play against prejudice. Find the clips holding the painting in place, he released them, then unhooked and removed the painting. No one was around to notice the unusual care or gentle manner of his handling, which seemed uncharacteristic. Few knew of Freyd's soft spot for children, though Cardinal did

...kept safe... behind Delilah's heart... regret my... Magis... Aldenbrook. The note looked to have been torn into pieces before it was set alight. Whoever tossed it in the bin wasn't thinking. Air-tight, the canister would have suffocated the flames and prevented the arson its completion. "Alright," Freyd whispered, wondering what it could possibly mean. The cursive script itself was firm, bold and eloquent, signaling a refined education and practiced hand. "Sounds like traits you'd associate with someone expecting to be sitting in this chair." Pushing the chair aside,

Having pulled back the chair, Fred noticed a tarnished silver ash bin tucked in deep beneath the desk, where the room's master could conceal evidence of a potential vice, if they felt it necessary. Pulling it out, the canister seemed neglected compared to the rest of the room's immaculate level of care. "How did none of the dust and debris from the rest of the manor's collapse get in here?" The house groaned and protested at his words, as if speaking them aloud had reminded it that it was mortally wounded and should already have fallen apart. Pinching the bridge of his nose and sha

Several things stood out, immediately, to the keen-eyed Whisper's survey. The room was completely devoid of strands and filaments. Despite their overwhelming concentration outside of its very walls, this place was bare. Their absence was jarring, compared to the exterior. There should also have been carpets and tapestries in here, quite obviously by the patterned discolorations on certain parts of the floor and walls. Things had been spread and hung within that were obviously absent. Everything remaining in the room was made of something other than fabric, except the cushioned seat and ba

"A good choice," Freyd replied, flicking his wrist to set fresh bait on his latest aquatic murder spree. At least, that was how Quip tended to describe them when he unloaded all of the collected materials at the shop. "I'm an appraiser, myself. Being able to craft your own weapons and armor definitely has its perks. And, while most players pick up a trade at some point, not all that many keep up with them. You'll see plenty of shops scattered across this floating castle. Few seem to have active keepers." The line tensed as something poked at his bobber, causing the slightest creak a

Scanning the contents of the room revealed no obvious or imminent threat. "That would be too easy, right?" Obvious enemies were easy to deal with. The sneaky, insidious types were far more bothersome. He knew it all too well. Freyd counted himself among the latter, as did a good many others who'd crossed him, Firm Anima or their allies. Few people even realized that the renown crafting guild had a clandestine division, which was the whole point. They wouldn't be worth their name if everyone knew about them. Straying thoughts also reminded him of the tiny black book that had been bu

Careful not to disturb the web-like threads, Freyd fully expected some sort of phase spider to leap through the remaining walls and try to bite his face off. With most of the dust settled again, only the whistling of the wind against the interior offered any sound. This place felt like a tomb, or like it might be ready to become one. Stepping through shadows to bridge the final gap, the Whisper had reached the small section of floor that remained outside the door leading to the only surviving part of the upper floor. The door itself was free of filaments, but every inch of the surrounding

Freyd usually had a good sense of humour about lethal situations, laughing off imminent dangers and threats of death on the principle that getting overly agitated wasn't especially helpful under such circumstances. It had served him well before, but something about this particular situation was undermining his casual disregard. Maybe he was still worried about Morningstar, or anyone else who randomly wandered through the Glyndebourne gate? Maybe it was Sally, and all of the other potential NPCs who could be exposed to the same fate? "Persi, keep watch." A flick of his wrist suggested

"Stop. Trying. TO EAT ME!" Floor joists and heavy timbers collapsing all around him, Freyd had somehow managed to work his way up to the ground floor. Or, maybe the ground floor had fallen into the basement. Both were equal possibilities, given the extent of raw damage done to the structure. He and his trademark cowl were now so utterly laden and caked with debris that they looked like an ashen blizzard had dumped its entire load upon them in a blink. The outer wall still stood, but most of the interior walls were gone. It looked like a frat party turned completely and totally wrong

"Not happening!" Ironclad refusal took the form of tumbling turned demolition derby as Freyd changed tactics and replaced dodging around attacks into crazy through the cellar itself. Ear-splitting cries resonated throughout the confined space as the maws bound around his fist peeled back their seals, unleashing the power of oblivion. Dust and splinters sprayed like shrapnel all about the space as chaos and destruction reigned, obscuring everything. The floors above creaked ominously as support columns and beams we sundered and snapped like twigs, whole sections vanishing with the passage o

"Nope. Nope! NOPE!" Try has he might, there were far too many strands flying about to effectively inflict any kind of counterattack. Dodging like the ballbearing in a pinball machine, he instantly felt himself sympathizing with its plight. Both were battered and thrown about violently for the amusement of others, with the only apparent end being an inevitable swallow by the void at the end of their torture chamber. Freyd hadn't quite spotted that particular menace, yet, being too busy dancing around like a madman, trying to keep himself from being flayed alive. Every edge and line defin

And that's when the house bit him - or tried, rather. He'd barely stepped halfway down the stairs when the mortar lines between rubblestone blocks forming the basement suddenly shone red, making the entire space feel like the inside of a very hostile enemy submarine, or maybe a Resident Evil movie. Moving on instinct alone, Freyd tumbled forward just in time to avoid a tangle of razor-sharp red strands slicing at him from every direction. "Definitely Resident Evil," he cried out, vaguely remembering something about a red queen and lasers in corridors chopping protagonists into tiny bits

Allowing his lumberjack disguise to fade, Freyd didn't expect it to do him much good if his guess was correct. The centre of a broadly spun web that could override the rules of their digital reality? That was raid level shit, or, more precisely, the sort of nonsense you would typically only find in labyrinths. Approaching the main entrance seemed ridiculously stupid, and possibly suicidal. Freyd elected, instead, to wander around to the side of the structure, seeking another door, cellar, or unsecured window. Option number two seemed like today's winner. A pair of slanted shutters jut ou

The manor house itself was wreathed in filaments from top to bottom, serving as some sort of nexus or root for the splaying crimson strands splaying outward from it in every direction. They were densest near the building itself, producing a reddish halo that seemed to pulse from the structure in time with the motions of the wind. "Yeah," Freyd muttered, "that's not ominous in the slightest. Hey, Persi, how much you want to bet this is the Lord Magistrate's pad?" Slinking down from beneath his armor, his normally aloof shadow mongoose familiar was on edge, her blazing azure eyes narro

A dark mass loomed in the distance, nestled in a valley between two rising slopes of wavering crimson adorned with heavy lacings in white. Though it was tough to tell, so heavily was it encased by the gossamer strands, Freyd thought he saw a series of tower-like elements poking up to match the tallest of the surrounding trees. All of it looked as though it was swaddled beneath a sheer, fabric-blanket of gauze. Realization dawned, along with cursing for having taken him so long to connect the similar contexts. These strands weren't like vines at all. They were like webs, very similar to the