Freyd

Racing south from the scene of the first fallen Spectral Knight, Freyd flitted from shadow to shadow to cover ground as swiftly as possible without risk an overshot.  He'd sent the rest of the Wobbagong ahead to execute a holding action against the first knight's cloned doppel, without realizing the full danger posed by these potent monstrous mobs.  It had taken six frontliners to take one of these things down, and they were only three, none of them yet meeting the requirements of that moniker.

"Hang on, guys.  I'm coming."

Sounds of battle ahead and a wayward arrow with grey and red fletching told him everything he needed to know.  Veering sharply left and upward, he sought higher vantage for scouting and hurtling into frenzied battle mode alike.

The battlefield revealed itself as a scene of pure chaos, Ren doing his best to kite the mob in circles while Foyle and Jeeves peppered its polished hide with bolts and arrows, to somewhat limited effect.  Bizarre, but effective as a strategy, as long as nothing else interfered, which wasn't going to be forever.  

***

Note: CS (Shades of the Gemini) and CSA (Beckon the Void) are in use.  If any other player objects to these, please state in first post and it will be considered inactive.

Freyd consumes:

Elixir of Wrath (Potion) | Tierless Perfect | Damage 3 | 195537b
[Draught of Safeguard] - T4 Perfect Potion | Mitigation 3 | 218110

Freyd consumes and shares:

Gungir’s Shard (Untradeable/Unique/Reusable Consumable): Smokin' Hot Honey Bun Tray | ACC 2 | EVA 2 | Feast (6/6) + ACC filled
Flavoured Yogurt Shot (snack) | T4 Perfect Snack | Probiotics 3 | combined [217728 + 227664] = Lesser Feast (4/4)

Freyd gives one of the following to each member of the party:

Elixir of Wrath (Potion) | Tierless Perfect | Damage 3 | 196545a | 196575c | 196616b

Freyd | HP: 1300/1300 | EN: 162/162 | DMG: 24 | MIT: 212 | ACC: 8 (incl. AA)  | TAUNT | F-SPIRIT | EVA: 4 | BH:72 | VAMP-D: 72 | VAMP-O: 143 | PARA-V | LD:5 | PROB: 36 | TOX-V: 32

Klepto frolic in full bloom, Reliq was all set to keep bounding about when his new pet rock suddenly jerked as if it had gotten lodged in thick air. Confused, eyes bulging and blinking at the oddity, tiny tentacles yanking ineffectively against whatever magnetic force countered their efforts.  Something was calling the stone another direction.  Something powerful.  At first he thought it might be the weird flying fluffy thing with its own rock collection heading his way.  Maybe they wanted to compare shinies?  But, no. This was something different... shinier... and infinitely more sinister.  From the disintegrating remnants of a recently defeated mob, a bit of slick pulsing tentacle lay writhing on the ground nearby.  As he watched, forgetting instantly the other relevant observations surrounding him - like said dragon - Reliq saw the tentacle death throes give way to something they shouldn't: growth.  

Even as the lopped off limb wriggled, its form changed to take on an ethereal silver hue.  Was it turning into some sort of ghost?  Dead things were supposed to turn into sparklies, not... whatever this was.  He'd just seen plenty of it happen.  Instead, the stumpy lump swelled and grew, sprouting limbs and gaining footing and feet simultaneously as it claimed some uncanny valley version of a humanoid form.  And, it was calling other decaying bits of mob into itself, absorbing it like it was food.  

Realization dawned while his tiny suction cups struggled and lost ground against the thing's pull.  it wanted Leg, but it couldn't have it.  Leg was too precious, too shiny, too... currently his, to ever let go!

Mixed feelings met the sound of Acanthus' voice as she rounded the corner to join them.  Last he'd seen the woman, she'd fled the chaos of their arrival on this accursed floor by running recklessly into its wilds.  Trust had been an early casualty in the shock of their arrival.  No safe zone.  No NPCs.  Hordes of horrific mobs led by eldritch champions besieging them from the outset and twisted whispers that messed with the mind in every stinking, miasmic vapour.  Doubts and skepticism were nagging, at the best of times.  And now another mysterious threat.

“And I thought I was prone to understatements.”

"It's all relative, I suppose," he murmured, strangely compelled to keep his voice low while algid eyes surveyed the nearby ridge for whatever had routed the other party.  A flash of blue and scattering of broken stones skid to a stop beside them, Freyd raising an arm to shield himself from the rain of cloud and shrapnel cast by Baldur's expeditious descent.  Given the manner of the samurai's arrival, he'd half-expected him to turn out to be Oscar.  Absorbing his quick exchange with Acanthus, Freyd was still distracted finishing off the last of the horrors besetting them.  

"Kind of you to land on that one. And nice aim."  Brief smirk granted, a barely spared glance pointed to the trail of dissipating fractal fragment at Baldur's feet.  Mention of the approaching boss only made it more crucial that they organize themselves to engage it.  Instincts kicked in to start issuing party invites and glean whatever stats Baldur might have gained access to in drawing their enemy's attention.  "You've seen one?  I caught the broadcast, barely.  We've been a little busy out here.  What are we dealing with?"  A brisk downward slash dispatched the last of their current assailants, finally granting them a moment's respite.  "And yes.  I'm set to tank," Freyd added, tapping the oily surface of his heavy black armor, now marred by an assortment of claw marks and indigo-tinted slime trails.  "Facing Wushan in my pajamas taught me a lesson or two."  He'd been nuts to do it, but necessity too often yielded to sound judgement. Floor twenty-nine exuded that sentiment in spades.

Jovial taunts about anthills and defiled churches lifted their mood, as a certain ginger's effervescent personality was wont to do.  Jomei and Lessa had rallied to the faltering party along with his own, not long before. 

“Thanks, Jomei.  You held up well in the last raid. Tank away. I’ll focus on making a nuisance of myself to whatever we're facing, but with this kit I can’t promise not to yank its chain and pull aggro.  We may have to tag team by default.” A nod acknowledged the man's bravery. It took a certain kind of courage to casually offer yourself as a bastion in the face of an unknown threat - especially one warranting one of Cardinal's  rare social media messages.  

"Let's call it five.  So where's the knight?" Morningstar's modestly disheveled figure emerged through the ranks of retreating players, every jubilant and ready for a scrap.

“Always wandering towards the trouble, aren’t you?" They'd faced their fair share of misadventures together and always managed, drawing a rumbling chuckle at his friend's approach. Given the events of the last raid, Freyd was grateful that they'd all rallied in response.  That inexplicable moment remained a mystery.  An earlier Freyd might not have been so trusting in the aftermath.  Yet, here they all were. Eyes more worn and weathered by the ordeal softened their default stern and stoic pose in silently hinted appreciation and relief, screened by added layers of greying scruff.  Elora seemed to like it, essentially ensuring it would stay.

Another clarion sound crested more loudly from over the hill which Baldur leapt. Barely an eye had blinked when the massive silvery figure had lances over the landscape into their midst and instantly claimed a jaw-dropping kill. Finger-like blades extended from its fingertips speared the remnants of what had just been the frolicking form of one of the retreating player's familiars.  A bear?  Freyd couldn't remember, and its body was already bloating with so many gleaming white pustules that it was unrecognizable.  Like some sort of lab experiment on fast forward, the pulsing metallic mass formed a caul that swelled and burst open within seconds to reveal a second knight.

"Goddamn!"  There was no more time for discussion or debate.  Ready or not, the knights were already upon them, the newly spawned abomination already hurtling past them towards Ilridge.  "Foyle, Ren, Jeeves.  Tag that one and keep it busy.  We'll deal with this one and come to your aid."  The rest of his patrol dispatched, Freyd rushed the more imminent threat, hoping the hadn't somehow consigned them to some doomed fate.  Trusting Jomei to keep to their fledgling notions of a plan, the Whisper focused on shock and awe instead.  Rattling metal on metal broke the stunned silence of its initial onslaught as a length of chain loosed from his left hand and spun around the knight's arm.  It howled in that same clarion, like a fog horn at full blast and right in their faces, as the meathook found purchase in its silvery flesh.  I just need a gap for the others to exploit and then... 

"Reliq!  NO!"

Some writhing mass of purple tentacles, bloodshot eyes and yellowed teeth raced along the chain to the tune of rippling bubble wrap and wet fart before diving into straight into the mob's freshly opened wound.  Freyd cursed, hoping he hadn't just lost another familiar, and fed their foe more cloning fodder.  For the moment, at least, the tiny mimic seemed to be having a blast wreaking having on the Spectral figure, its high-pitched cackling laughter echoing absurdly from within.  

***

"Thbbbbbbbbbttttt...." came the raspberry tune of external tongue-filled delight as it fleshily wagged in his racing wake.  The indigo blob flailed toothy tentacles all about and whizzed across dark and broken streets.  Soaking up mayhem like Pacman would candy pellets, Reliq jumped from randomly discarded flotsam to jetsam as if each were a priceless piece of discarded artwork left behind for him to unearth and cherish.  Each needed all of his love and attention, for about 2.3 seconds.  Then it became the next shiny bauble's turn, and the next, and so forth.

"Reeee... heeeheee..."

Gleefully manic and utterly unbothered by the pervasive doom and gloom of their surroundings, the tiny monstrosity reveled in life's sheer existence like it was the very best... thing... ever! A battered pot, rotten basket, or  even a particularly punky floorboard with exceptionally wondrous whorl patterns around its knots. Each held its own glorious magnificence and fun in the brief span of his absentee attention.  Even a completely chance rock, rumbling around on its own, or stuck on some strangely unidentifiable sludge, might draw his critter's interests.  And so, it did.  Too small for Reliq to inhabit, the mimic peered upon the new thing's etched and polished surface from many angles, using many eyes. Most opened not where they should be, blinking and winking unexpectedly all around his rubbery purple flesh.  

Spasming suddenly, spooked by the shrill sound of an ominous clarion call in the distance, reflexes jerked and rock friend went flying.  And a new game was born.  Poor Leg never stood a chance.  Cast as the ball in some bizarre hybrid combination of every imaginable related and unrelated sport, Leg was felled and flung dozens of times over as the player who'd made it a toy resumed its oblivious romp across the blighted charnel field that had once been some quaint and beautiful fishing village.

A great clawed leg, belonging to some unfathomably large eldritch abomination, then bristled and flattened the ruin next to theirs, just as Reliq had made his latest pitch.  Unaware or uncaring of the danger, he bibbled along chasing after it, rushing to prevent the mammoth horror from absconding with his shiny new pet.  As if it had possibly even noticed either of them were there...

Shiny bits and bobs flew all about in fanciful arcs and the whizbang of hurtling mayhem shooting in every direction overhead. This new shambler took him to all the best places! Always full of action with delectable goodies to be explored, occupied, or infested, in the nicest possible ways.  Currently romping about the milling clawed feet of a dozen skittering tall-ies, this latest batch seemed especially keen on dancing with his monochromatic new friend.  They also made the bestest popping noises whenever their dance ended, complete with shiny showers and the glittering promise of coins.  Some even dropped some smattering of new stuff for him to collect.  So cool!  Where did they keep their pockets, he wondered, thinking they must be internal, and how he needed to learn how to do that.

Reliq's latest find was an elaborately barnacled slop bucket, which he'd giddly donned like some sort of pirate-wannabe hermit crab. Stained and skinking, he wore it with pride while weaving about the battlefield.  Naively delighting in the melee and mayhem, he could only think of it as some sort of elaborate playground.  The tiny inky purple mimic buzzed all about, gathering the loot dropped by the big bug thingies whenever they became all sparkly.  Slapstick tentacles flailing beneath him propelled the miniature monster to the sound of the death knell of bubble wrap on speed, or unfortunate aftermath of an excessive dose of refried beans. Playing fetch with loot sprayed about with the pace of a gatling gun made it all even better.  And the fans really sold it!  Running about with their gangly limbs waving manically about like that. So fun! Delightful wailing and cries rose like music to his nubby little ears, horrific ecstasy strewn across their faces while they streaked towards the shiny nearby archway. It almost made him feel bad when one of them tripped over him amidst the whizzing chase, hefting his latest temporary housing high into the miasmic air. 

In a moment of blighted clarity, all he could see was this giant, bloodshot yellow eye glowering to trace his skyward movements across the blackened air, starkly contrasted against the starless skies above,. The rest of its monstrous bulk concealed by Ilridge's ever-oppressive dark.

**GONG**

A solid ricochet off the steeple bell rent Reliq from his bucket.  He flew left, while it mostly went bye-bye, splintering into a smelly cloud of desiccated shrapnel to rain over the remaining revelers below.  Sailing deeper into the random dark, as he plummeted back toward cobblestones, all anyone else could make out from above was a mewling, burbling eldritch screech sounding strangely like a whistle failing pathetically to blow but evoking only the wettest and highest pitched of wet farts.

***

Freyd | HP: 1300/1300 | EN: 162/162 | DMG: 21 | MIT:152 | ACC: 5 (inc.AA)  | TAUNT | F-SPIRIT | EVA:2 | BH:72 | VAMP-D: 72 | VAMP-O: 143 | PARA-V | LD:5

Black steel met the slurping coil of writhing tentacles as the latest batch of freshly risen monstrosities surged forth. Mangled and twisted abominations whose very misshapen existence defied imagination fell upon them like a wave of gnashing teeth, rent flesh and raking black claws.  Just another day in the frontlines' latest paradise lost.

"Someone definitely kicked over an anthill, or whatever the squid-themed equivalent might be!" Forming a mental image of the eldritch horror version of a snake breeding ball quickly prompted him to stop, focusing instead on the wounded gaggle of fleeing players scrambling their way.  The dread in their eyes told an all-too-familiar tale.

"This way," Freyd bellowed, his black armor already covered in the thick, viscous indigo coating of ichor and gore.  They'd been patrolling for hours in what increasingly felt like a futile effort to clear surcharged spawn points full of ever multiplying horrors.  "Regroup in Ilridge, in the valley. You'll find healers there."  A quick wave of his ebon bracer lanced a string of something resembling saliva to mark their heading.  Only a moment could be spared before another batch swarmed over ridge. One young woman amongst the retreating party gave silent thanks with only a painful wince, gratitude of eyes beleaguered by the trauma of unmitigated horrors.  Such things were all to common here.  Too real.  Something about her reminded him of Haine, the warmth of memory steeling his resolve to buy the morsel of time they needed to escape.

"They must have let something loose in Kineallen Parish to have triggered such a response."  It was a guess.  Patterns were frustratingly difficult to glean anywhere on this floor.  Only the ever-flooding tides of madness were assured, though even they felt like some semblance of knowledge lurked just around the corner.  That, or yet another wave of wrongness incarnate.

"Something's different."  A pause for fancy footwork dodged a series of obsidian darts flung by the fishiest of their new assailants, measured mostly by the size and shape of its excessively wide lips. "We haven't seen this kind of reckless zeal since we first arrived."  Another foe with way too many tentacles latched onto his left leg, only to lose the appendage for getting too frisky.  Freyd's inevitable follow-up quip died on the vine at the bellow of some distorted distant horn. Blaring across the broken landscape like some unholy clarion call, it sounded mixed with the clinking tones of unnatural wind chimes belied by the stillness in the air.  They all felt it. 

"That... doesn't sound good." A fleeting glance spared to the rest of his companions, they'd all fought too hard to just give up gained ground over one more ominous sound. If that was all it took to scare them off the local supply would have kept them from setting foot on this floor at all.

***

Note: CS (Shades of the Gemini) and CSA (Beckon the Void) are in use.  If any other player objects to these, please state in first post and it will be considered inactive.

Freyd consumes:

Draft of Keen Edge | Tierless | Perfect Potion | Damage 3 | 235950
Mega-Duper Anti-Everything Sauce (Salve) | Antidote 3 | 197179
Flavoured Yogurt Shot (snack) | T4 Perfect Snack | Probiotics 3 | 217726
Kintsugi. | T4 Perfect Salve | Toxic Venom | 223936l
Shrimp Gumbo | Tierless Perfect Meal | Overhealth 3 | 220091e

Freyd consumes and shares:

Gungir’s Shard (Untradeable/Unique/Reusable Consumable): Smokin' Hot Honey Bun Tray | ACC 2 | EVA 2 | Feast (6/6) - ACC filled
Stalwart's Stew | T4 Perfect Meal | MIT 3 | Combine [216715, 216716] into Lesser Feast (4/4)

Freyd | HP: 1495/1495 | EN: 162/162 | DMG: 24 | MIT: 212 | ACC: 8 (inc.AA)  | TAUNT | F-SPIRIT | EVA: 4 | BH:72 | PROB: 36 | DOTE (3/3) | VAMP-D: 82 | VAMP-O: 164 | PARA-V | LD:5 | TOX-V: 32

"Lazy?"  Forming the word with any deliberate intent for the rest of the day seemed nearly painful.  Those most familiar with Freyd knew that the sheer concept of a day off was essentially anathema.  Even here, now, he'd come equipped with full tactical fish-decimation gear and buffs in tow.  A lazy day meant depleting every detectable fishing spot on his mini-map with surgically precise timing.  There were entire spreadsheets built around matching the best lures with potential catches, weather-dependent debuffs to offset inconvenient climate outages... Even his tennis shoes were laced with fish anesthetic, though his toes were arguably starting to feel rather numb.

"So... what?  We fish Dundee styles or something?"  His cunning mind was already considering underwater applications for the meathook and bear trap consumables he'd recently claimed.  Depth charges might be a bit risky in shallow water, but...

"...maybe push someone into the lakeeee."

Misgauging the direction of Ciela's gaze, Freyd nodded with a hint of confusion, his arm not hesitating in the slightest to shove Mina off the side of the pier.

"Someone said something about Cerberus?"

"Stephen Star?  Famous?"  Furrowed brows fought to recollect the significance.  "Are you that guy who cast magic spells in that old comic book TV-adaptation?  The one with the fancy red cape that had a mind of its own?  Wow... that would make you pretty ancient too." Raising his bracer just in time, it catches most of the egg yoke splattered his way by Acanthus' baby drake apocalypse. The goo froze and shattered into scintillating sparkles of post-mob content, barely garnering the Whisper's attention. If he'd even heard the moral dilemma stirring in his friend's heart, there was no mention of it in front of the others. "Guess I never realized the connection. Strange. Is that why you're always gambling?  Practicing a little prestidigitation on the side?"

Things only got weirder as the draconic mother hens raged back into their decimated roost, shrieking and roaring almost as loudly as the racket Acanthus let loose in retort.  Both lizard shut their gobs, stunned like a pair of reptilian deer caught in the mesmerizing gaze of the auditory equivalent of headlights.  The rightmost of the pair got gored for its trouble, dropping to the rocky ground in a heavy whump as its digital innards sought to explore a whole new outdoor experience.  

"Let's not get into the birds and the bees with scales, shall we?  The village is a McGuffin.  The nests are McGuffins.  Can we just accept that this entire world is a giant, freakin' McGuffin to get us hooked on climbing to the top, and move on?"

As if on cue, Freyd whipped out his left hand, unleashing a clattering clink of metal on metal as a chain arced around the left drake's head.  A rough tug altered its travel, causing the wicked-looking hook on its end to snare into the beast's neck, yanking it brutally forward and off-balance. Sidestepping the creature's armored bulk, the Whisper barely showed any effort as his blade sliced neatly through where its jugular might have been, spraying an eruption of shattering avatar shards about like a swarm of drunken fireflies to temporarily light their surroundings.

"Best not to think about such things," he suggested, his face an unreadable mask as he pressed their foe back to the tune of more sickening crunches of eggshells beneath his caked heavy boots.

No Chill | 243716

Applies ANTIFREEZE to the user for a single thread.

Iron Will (1)
Applies BLOODCLOT to the user for a single thread.

ID 243564

Ilridge had been bad enough, but worse required facing if the Frontlines were ever to manage clearing this forsaken floor.  Freyd had finally felt certain enough that their fortified beachhead could hold, maintaining a garrison a dozen players strong at all times.  Each were armored as well as any of the vanguard, though rotating their ranks had proven wise.  Just staying on twenty-nine for too long took its toll on anyone's sanity.  Immediate needs tended to, he'd forayed away from the main camp to investigate, of all things, an abandoned church.  High on a nearby hill, faded signs spun and torn for added confusion, he'd gleaned only the district's name: Kineallen.  It might have been the name of the figure to whom the dilapidated structure was once dedicated, the name of the rolling earthen rise upon which it stood, or something completely different.  Like almost everything on this floor, there was simply no way to know.

Sword drawn, hovering pre-emptively at his side, Freyd had no illusions about the ambient threat.  Lightning crackled overhead, the constant booming thunder making distance-gauging utterly pointless.  It was just there, overhead, all the time. Suspicions and Whispery-senses were going crazy here, and everywhere else across the floor, making them effective worthless.  Full, constant alertness was unsustainable, even for him.  Tough it also seemed best to assume the worst was waiting around every turn, which did little for nerves still clandestinely frayed from the raid.

"So... condemned?  Cursed?  Available for redemption at discount prices?  What kind of church are you?  I'm guessing that actual sanctuary of any kind is probably off the table."

Looming like it was yawning at his approach, and about the devour anyone foolish enough to to do so, the building itself was was shuttered and dark.  Heavy wood doors bore clawed scars, and though there was no evidence of a breach, nor were there any indications of survivors.  Fresh graves were obvious, hastily made and nestled among far older stock, surrounding the holy house like decrepit crenelations of a defunct bastion.  

"Yeah.  Fat lot of help you all likely were." A pang grabbed his heart at the possibility that NPCs might actually have fought here and died, denied their cursed blessing of rebirth.  Could this floor be a nightmare for them too, or had they never actually been here in the first place?

***

Note: CS (Shades of the Gemini) and CSA (Beckon the Void) are in use.  If any other player objects to these, please state in first post and it will be considered inactive.

Mega-Slime Farm activated!

Freyd consumes:

Draft of Keen Edge | Tierless | Perfect Potion | Damage 3 | 235949
Jackpot Pretzel (Snack) | Loot Die 3 | 179642

Freyd takes a portion and shares:

Gungir’s Shard (Untradeable/Unique/Reusable Consumable): Smokin' Hot Honey Bun Tray | ACC 2 | EVA 2 | Feast (6/6) |  + filled [acc only]

Freyd | HP: 1300/1300 | EN: 162/162 | DMG: 24 | MIT:152 | ACC:7 | F-SPIRIT | EVA:4 | BH:72 | VAMP-D: 72 | FLN: 16 | HLY: 16 | LD:8

Quick to recover his blade, Freyd's gaze scoured the black sands and sinfully still waters in case the lich had other plans, or they'd accidentally spawned some other horror in their wanderings.  No dice.  Good. A breath held was finally expelled and a smile wistfully donned as he turned to regard his companion.

"Well done."  No excitable praise.  No hearty huzzah.  Ebullient outbursts were hardly the man's style.  But praise was praise, and from a stoic pragmatist, hard earned.  "You defeated your enemy, and fought in tune with an ally.  Not flawless, perhaps, but battle never is."  A smirk marked the occasion, as if it somehow sufficiently hailed the grandeur of her accomplishment.  Summoning a bit of ebonweave to hand, Freyd wiped the blade clean of sand, as if it might somehow be marred or corroded by contact with the Stygian shore.  Wulfrin and Ren had both been nagging at him about the importance of maintenance.  Whether the action was dutiful or grounded in appeasement was unclear, and the weapon returned to its hearth.

"No hindrance could have put this demon down as you did, Nymoria.  And though we surely need practice working as a team, we made invaluable inroads today.  Treasure that.  I know I will." The predatory slant of his eyes eased as he spoke, loosening his perpetual hunter's gaze, if only for a moment.

"Now, I believe I have a walk to finish, and other answers to seek."  A short bow, and clumsily texted thanks made his excuses as the Whisper prepared to leave.  Today's lesson, for them both, was over.

***

Thread Closing:

Nymoria receives:

4,001 EXP (Word Count [10723/10*4*0.7] + Quest [1000])
2,700 col (1 page [200] + Quest [2500])
Yamata no Orochi Key [quest item]

Freyd receives:

13,507 EXP (Word Count [10723/10*18*0.7] + Quest [0])
2226 col (1 page [200] + 15% P5 Reward [2026])
 

Certain that Nymoria had gleaned the fight's pattern, Freyd sidestepped the first of a pair of newly risen skeletal warrior risen from dark Stygian waters to accost them.  She cut one down an instant later, the mob's hollow eyes failing to even register her presence.  It was too taken by the rantings of the decrepit figure ambling awkwardly onto a freshly righted disk, desperate to make its escape.

"Inconceivable!  Have you no respect for the will of the dead?!  If I still had my Io's cane, I'd beat you senseless with it!  Never mess with a Stygilian, when death is on the line!"  Glowing rings of haunting will'o'wisps marking the platform's perimeter flared as it gradually lifted him upward and at risk of being beyond their reach.

Your three o'lock.  Be ready.

Deflecting the other warrior's blade with a black vambrace, Freyd's blade followed the blunter blow to cleanly separate the bone man's head from everything below.  Mere seconds were all he'd have, hoping it would be enough, before the skull joined the rest of its disintegrating form.  Bounding the bobbing noggin off a raised thigh like some sort of macabre hackey sack bought him just enough reprieve from Cardinal's ferryman toll. The head rose, airborne just long enough for Freyd to whirl and slap it hard with his backhand.  All the lich saw was the gaping maw of its own stunned minion's demise as the skull soared upward and straight into its face.

"GAH!  Get off me, cretin!"

Four stubby arms flailed, to no avail, as the undead lord toppled backward, losing its precarious and elderly balance.  A great puff of sand marked its unceremonious impact, unnatural growls of growing frustration bellowing from long dysfunctional lungs.

"Awwww.  Back so soon?  Did you Mitch me that much?"

Losing all pretense of calm or civility in the face of such uncouth pun-ishment, the lich lost it and lunged at the Whisper with nothing more than animalistic rage.

Checkmate.

Feeble claws met dark adamant with little more than a 'tink', utterly failing to penetrate the samurai's armor.  Freyd countered by pitching his sword into the nearby beach and grabbing his assailant's limbs, snaring them all with his hands and a helping web of shadowy bindings to hold them fast.  Slamming his forehead hard into the gaunt figure's face produced a sickening crunch and meekly gasping yelp as the mob suddenly realized how royally and utterly screwed it was.

NOW!

***

Freyd's Action:

Enemy's Action:

Permitting himself a satisfied smirk at the potential breakthrough, Freyd watched with muted glee at Nymoria's strike found its intended mark and upended the strange skiff upon which the withered lich perched.  Damage and impact combined to tip and list the platform, more than enough to toss its rickety passenger off side and dump him unceremoniously to the sands below.  'Mitch' hit hard, and face first, leaving a lovely macabre impression of himself upon the Stygian shore, expletive curses barking out in code anathema to the game's translation matrix.  Fitting.

Continuing the strange dance that had somehow garnered success in its original trial, Freyd flowed like a cobra with sword as substitute for a serpentine hood.  Each pass of the katana's steel sprayed more sand upon their enemy, who stuttered and protested 

"Now, see here!  Do you know who I am?!  Hey!  Quit it!  That's ebonweave silk you Philistine! How dare you!"

True to his word, Freyd never laid a hand or sword upon their foe, dealing no damage, save perhaps to its patience and pride.  As Mitch retreated, looking like some deeply frazzled cat further vexed by the advance of some persistently pernicious vacuum cleaner, the Whisper's motions further infringed upon its ultimate aloofness.  Hissing and swatting feebly in his direction as he encroached, the lich gave ground and hobbled away rather pathetically. No wonder it always relied on the skiff.  Mitch needed his walker.

Mob coming your way.  Be ready.

***

Freyd's Action:

Enemy's Action:

Note: The Leech Lich will spawn 2 more Stygian Warriors on the next post

"Parlour tricks?  Really?  I expected better."  The taunt had its intended effect, as the alleged 'father' overreached in his own shadowy gambit and exposed himself.  Parrying the boss' blow, Freyd gave ground to further aggravate the gross thing's error, exposing its flank for Ryo, who deftly and precisely exploited.  Where others saw horridly glaring yellow beacons in a blighted darkness, the two of them peered through a thinly cast veil to seize their opportunity.

"Nice work," Freyd called to his impromptu fishing partner, both men clearly unaffected by the darkness. By some quirk of fortune, actually good for a chance, the two of them had finally caught a break and found a means to turn the tides.  "Now we just have to deal with the flotsam and jetsam that thing left behind."

Once again in his element, Freyd cut loose, literally spraying the surrounding walls with fractal fish guts as he tore into the writing throng.  Tentacles severed counted for bonus points, more than a few of their foes defying conventional rules ascribed to normally distinct aquatic species.  

"Credit goes to the mad genius or whoever designed these filthy fish-things.  They're legitimately gruesome, but still... just... mobs!" Hacking and slashing in a manner to make those old Ginsu commercials proud, Freyd's frenzied kata tore through the enemy ranks.  Ravaging row after row of burbbling fish folk, this flank of their advance faltered and allowed more players to find safety back through the gate.  If they were truly lucky, the other players would have the time they needed, the other groups would hold, and this godforsaken beachhead could be handed over to Hirru's desperately flustered portable merch mobile.

***

"Mitch?  Where did Mitch come from?!  Uh... just keep doing that slashing thing.  It's working well."  Not that Freyd truly minded the dubbing, given his own penchant for nicknaming mobs to help with taunting during battle. It would likely also take time for the algorithm to learn and adapt to their individual thoughts and turns of phrase.  The very fact she was receiving any input at all was promising.  "That's it!  You have them."

Undead reinforcements fell nearly as quickly as they rose from the brackish black, returned to watery graves with a shrapnel-like splash of shards, a few deigning to skip once or twice before winking from existence. The enemy screeched, like it had extra mouths squared under the rags it wore, just to make it even more creepy than it already was.  Batting aside Nymoria's guard, it raked three wicked sets of claws across her arm, leaving glaring gashes in orange and cackling with self-satisfaction.

"Babble all you want, girl!  I certainly didn't Mitch you!  Har har har!"

Freyd groaned, dying a little inside, swearing to himself that this thing must have had a twirly mustache, in life, to debase itself with such a corny line.  

"What are you?  Still in beta testing or something?!  That was just... the worst.  Hard reset incoming, Mitch!"

Katana ready and willing, he had to consciously stay the yearning blade to keep it from swinging, refocusing its efforts into an intensely controlled kata.  Like weaving a spell, his practiced motions cut through the ambient darkness with a whispered song, an ominous tune hummed in steel and raising hairs on necks (or upper lips), for those who still had them.  Bound by his word, Freyd refrained from engaging the boss directly, but funneled the strength of his arts and knowledge in newly minted ways.  Honing the message in his mind, harnessing his thoughts into martial action, he sought to meet Nym halfway.  His weapon became an instrument akin to the way she used her hands, signaling, speaking, communicating intent and opportunity.  With a final, steady thrust, the blade left an indelible mark upon their enemy, without contact, in a way he hoped that she might 'hear' and understand.

Strike.  Here.

***

Freyd's Action:

Enemy's Action:

"What?  Can't hear... oh, right. No lips." With an eerily practiced nonchalance, Freyd figured out the problem after flitting his attention between the monster's features and watching Nym, demonstrating the very subject of their earlier conversation.  Academic debate over communications quickly fell to the wayside as she drew her weapon and charged its gathered minions, most of which fell before they'd even had a chance to fully rise from their waterside graves.

Blade drawn with a telltale snikt, Freyd moved at her beckoning to down the last of the miniature skeletal horde, lopping the lone warrior's head clean from its shoulder and batting into the river's black water with a casual flick of his wrist.  He was accustomed to being in the thick of the melee, surrounded by foes on all sides and slashing seven ways from Sunday to keep pace.  Fighting just one mob, and not even a boss, was a frontliner's equivalent to T-ball practice.  

"What?!  How dare you!  Insolent..."

BOP!

Still safeguarded against attacks, the Lich never expected its carefully crafted monologue to be interrupted by a chunk of broken tombstone bouncing off the quickly shattering shield.  Freyd waved to it, a smug-looking grin splashed across his face as he pointed to the right with feigned concern, while Nym bore down on the distracted monster from the opposite direction.

"I wouldn't worry too much," Freyd dispatched as audio over an open group chat channel, curious to see how well it worked.  "He's a bit of a pesky chatterbox at the best of times.  Better to just cut him down swiftly.  I'll be over here smiting his minions while you deal with his horrible highness.  Oh, and try knocking him off his little green goblin floaty disk thing.  It's hella fun, and the lich gets really, really mad."

***

Freyd's Action:

Enemy's Action:

"No, not everything," he responded to her worry that he'd opened up the channel to all possible inputs.  That would have been bad. "It only converts party chat.  Might still be a little cluttered in a raid, but for testing purposes, with only two of us here, it should work fine.  We can already turn off most of the system noise, like trade requests and all the other stuff people always turn off in MMO's, so this should do the same."  More hope than certainty, Freyd scratched pensively at his beard, as if that might somehow stroke some insight.  It did not.

"Line of sight shouldn't be an issue."  She was really hung up on that, wasn't she?  But the text option she'd come to rely on was likely just as much a crutch as it was a boon, and so Nym might have grown fearfully attached to it - defensive, even.  "Look, I can't make any promises here, but party chat works even when players are separated, so I think we have a.... what?"

Blinking as she bowed in apology, his brain was still catching up to her comments, their hasty conversation having become disjointed as its two streams worked at separate paces.

"Oh.  OH!"  Gears started grinding to a halt.  "No, no... that's not what or how..." 

Groaning, Freyd felt like he'd just kicked the local crippled kid and stolen their lunch money, the ethical and mental impact suddenly reverberating back at him with full force.  Flinching at his faux-pas, he pursed his lips and palmed his forehead at having let himself leap so deep down this particular rabbit hole without more conversation.  The poor woman was clearly confused and overwhelmed, and he'd just babbled on like a total jerk, thinking he could fix other people, or bypass life's insidious challenges with a few setting prompts.

"You haven't been rude.  I have been."  Slowing his responses to a more legible pace, he realized that he'd been ramping up as his excitement grew, which had only made the situation worse.  "I shouldn't have pushed so hard for this.  If you would prefer to simply do as we originally agreed, I will gladly serve as a distraction for the minions summoned by the lich."

"Oh, you will, will you?"  

Turning slightly, neither of them had even realized how close they'd come to the river, a low rubble dike having blocked their line of sight.  Rubble that, upon closer inspection, consisted entirely of tombstones.  Overhead, the ir multi-limbed, skeletal villain hovered on some sort of arcane platform, out of reach and quite content to raise a horde of undead mooks all around them,.

"Well... shit."

Wandered in again, as usual, staring blankly at the same unchanging walls wan wondering why the heck he had to drum a hundred pointless words about the same old thing.  All he was going to do was wander over to the same old kiosk, point at the same old things and stow them away until the next raid anyway.  Where was the need?  Why bother?  The goods were marginally useful, at best.  He'd blown through a year's worth against Callisto to negligible effect.  Frustrating would be putting it mildly.  And so he did the thing.  Chose the thing.  Stored the thing.  Grumbled about the thing.  And, like every time before, he closed the menu and wandered back towards the exit, wondering why this all needed to be such a thing. 

Maybe next time it wouldn't be?  Maybe someone would see the light and pointlessness of him having this same old discussion with himself, over and over, and put the universe out of its misery. Maybe not?

***

2025-02-17

Weather the Storm | ID 241190
Applies PARALYTIC IMMUNITY to the user for a single thread.

She was clearly struggling with some of the concepts, and Freyd knew he tended to go too big brain, more often than not.  Maybe if he worked to keep the language plainer, it might help.  Patience suffused as he calmly repeated the concept in, hopefully, simpler terms.

"Turning text to speech is old tech.  Cardinal can turn thoughts into audible, understandable words.  We just need to tune it to translating what you're saying into something easier for others to follow and understand." 

Opening up several settings, he already knew that more sensitive options had either vanished or been locked off since Kayaba sprung his trap, but likewise hoped this might be a simple enough tool that it could have been overlooked.  Pursing his bearded lips as he pondered and wandered about the interface, he finally found what he was looking for.  Maybe.  The game had readily available subtitle outputs, for when players preferred to play music or had to keep check on other real world surroundings.  Right below it was a feature to enable text to speech for when others were communicating in the same.

"Huh.  What do you know?" Freyd beamed at the thought of having possibly found Nym a solution. "Wonder what sorts of voice options it provided?  Try to say something.  Hopefully you won't sound like my grandpa."

"Call it a business arrangement," Freyd replied to Acanthus, regarding his connection to Ren.  "I like to invest silently in Aincrad's up and coming players.  He likes to help people.  We came to a mutually beneficial agreement." Freyd went to describe several of Ren's forays into the wild, gone badly, and the need for more resilient players to deal with the resource gathering on his behalf.  "Ren's an idealist, not necessarily well suited for the rigors of the front lines or the harsh realities of this world.  Let's just say that his neighbors and competitors don't always appreciate his charitable demeanor and occasionally need reminding that pranking him is off limits."

"Kessel Run."  Freyd snorted at the reference while nodding his emphatic agreement.  "Now, let's see.... were those metric fathoms or Danish leagues?  I feel like we should be rounding that to the nearest cubit, just to be safe."

Having so much fun piling on, it completely slipped their guide's mind that he could have just found the things using Tracking.  Maybe it was for the best?  They all needed a bit of wind-down time anyway, and twenty-one's tunnels were somewhat of a marvel, once you got past the trolls and hordes of giant flesh-eating spiders.

***

Post Action: Searching for Drakeling Nest
ID 241120 | LD 3 + 5= 8

"You're speaking now, aren't you?  The medium may be different, but it works.  I hear you."  Her frustrations were perfectly understandable, and clearly reaching over a threshold requiring patience and delicacy.  Not traits most would normally associate with him, and wrongly so.  Freyd could give masterclasses in long term planning, but learning to actually developing the emotional intelligence to devise the underpinnings of a human soul remained a novelty.  Until recently, at least.  Calamitous change had a way of altering personal perspective.  In this case, for the better, or so he hoped.  Ever since, he'd found himself insatiably drawn to deciphering such puzzles in a way previously deemed utterly irrelevant. 

How the world has turned...

Listening intently as she explained her use of battle signs, he nodded understanding without interruption.  Nymoria finally opening up was a precious gift not to be dismissed with the rudeness of overlapping words. Tactics and stratagems formed in the arcane, weblike pathways of his mind, probing possibilities to defy and defeat the limitations of their captor system. Cardinal was hardly infallible. In fact, despite its lethality, his archnemesis had dozens of exploitable flaws, if you were just willing to think outside the box.  She was already halfway there and just needed to recognize amazing accomplishments already bending the rules in her favour.  

"You are no hindrance," he finally replied, perhaps more forcefully than he should. "Player-killers are a hindrance, wiping out the very thing they need to save their own twisted lives.  A raid boss is a hindrance.  You are here, fighting, trying, willing to put your existence on the line for the sake of others."  He flinched again, as if recognizing an echo of similar encouragement once given to others, with calamitous results.  Or, maybe she had died doing the very same because challenging the status quo actually mattered more than anything.  A ring of wisdom undeniable in the thought, it also granted solace he hoped she had earned and found before the end.  It also gave reason to keep trying, and help others do the same, or else this war was already truly lost.

"These battle signs.  The system already interprets them and exports them as text, right?  What if we could mod a script to translate them into custom UI input instead, or trick the system into doing so for us?  For all of its constraints, SAO's underlying systems excel at one particular thing: interpreting thoughts into digital reality.  It's already adapting your thoughts into text.  Why not see if we can push it a step further to convey intent on a different level and in a different way?  We could start in a smaller scale controlled environment, like our party.  Care to try?"

Straightening his stance, as his grandfather had taught him long ago, Freyd clasped his fist in the palm of its opposing hand before him and bowed slightly to offer thanks.  Something within felt the need for the formality of it.  Maybe recognition of the silent magnitude of her acceptance?  Maybe it just felt right and respectful?  Yeah.  The latter rang true.

"Thank you.  It would be my honor to travel with you."  Genuine relief visible in the more weathered lines of his bearded face.  He had definitely changed since their last meeting, in ways that dwarfed the altering of his appearance. The same intensity was there, behind his eyes, but somehow tempered and absent of the former hawkish harshness of his smoother features.

"If I could impose for one small additional request?  As a tank - a defender - in groups or raids, as the need may arise, the role falls to me to guide and protect those under my charge.  You don't always choose your party, and not all parties inherently function well.  The true challenge of a tank is not just to hold back the enemy, but to keep his party safe, together, functional.  These... are not talents to which I am well suited.  I rose through the ranks solo, mostly carving my own path forward.  But, no one can beat this game alone."

Gesturing down a wider avenue, he led them away from the main square in a direction loosely familiar from past forays, drawing upon blind luck and vagaries of distant memory to lead them where they needed to go.  Setting a slow pace, Freyd made sure to keep his features visible, his speech and cadence measured.  Deliberately not to be patronize, but as a matter of simple, honest courtesy. She deserved no less, nor did anyone else, at least until they proved themselves a callous jerk or otherwise.  Nym didn't strike him as that type, in the slightest.

"If I'm to be a good tank, I need to adapt to my circumstances, not expect the reverse. So, given that, I find myself curious about our little venture.  Rather than you finding better ways to speak to me, I would like you to teach me how to better listen... to you."

Clouds gathered in the distance, thunder  pairing oddly with intermittently with stray flashes of lightning, like the two couldn't quite get the rhythm right.  Disharmony reigned in the Whisper's heart and mind as he left Aruyt behind him, traversing the open central plains, booted footsteps setting a steady cadence like drums of war that resonated in his ears as much as his mind's eye.  One inescapable face occupied his memories, ragged, dirty and relieved from a rescue done in the name of virtue.  She had questioned the point.  His replies sounded hollow in the wake of her defeat.  And, if his advice contributed to that end...

All in the name of granting them hope?  If this is where it leads, then what was the fucking point?  Dead is dead.

Halting a moment at the edge of the stream he'd been following, Freyd pulled a tattered shred of red cloth from his inventory, the threadbare fabric feeling about as useful as the promise made in its name.  But he was never one to give up casually on his oaths.  Never had been.  

"Never will be?"

That's really the question, isn't it?  What's the matter?  Feeling hollow?  Empty?  Fake?

Staring into the slow moving water, he saw darkness reflected back, glaring with absent accusations of hypocrisy.  The void never fell for illusions, never believed the best told lies, never accepted false pretense or deception of any kind.  The Thing Behind All Lies, he'd come to call it: truth.  A hollow, perfect emptiness bold enough to prove Plato's ideals could be made real, it burrowed into souls like a drill through the cotton candy of your soul.  No resistance.  No hiding.  It always found a way and forced you to look back through yourself.

"Fucking mind-killer indeed," he muttered, musing back to a favoured literary passage from his youth.

Lightning cracked behind him, washing out the image to leave the inverse silhouette as a shade of light burned into his vision.  Truth seen could not so easily be unseen, but would fade in time.

"So, what have I seen?  Her truth?  All of ours?  THE VERY WORLD WE LIVE IN IS A LIE!"

Stomping boot to stream bed sprayed water like fiction, scattering that truth in every direction and for the best.  Maybe.  Hopefully.  Hopefully?  Then why was she dead?  And why did anything any of them did even matter?  That had been her question too.

Wide eyed miniature faunes halted their games and ran in terror at the sight of a the faceless black-clad figure that emerged from the gleaming white portal arch in the centre of Aruyt.  Storming into existence with the force and rancor of an overwound tornado, he marched through the quaint forest settlement with such determination and purpose that the locals instantly intuited murderous intent.  As children scattered from their streetscape playgrounds in search of immediate shelter, adults witnessing the scene unfold fell silent and watched his passage as one might watch a hurtling train bound for imminent and unavoidable collision, or the final burning moments of an asteroid igniting the atmosphere around them to pronounce the imminence of their demise.

Two players, relatively inexperienced and still testing their early limits, locked gazes on him as he walked by, uncertain how to gauge such a figure and puzzled as to who or what he was.  The taller of them, a man in light scouting armor whose green scale surface remained marred by several recent spider claw strikes, divested himself of his previous conversation and spilled forth his thoughts into a poorly considered stream.

"No marker?  Is that a player or...?"

His partner, a sleek and stealthy type by her build and weaponry, elbowed him quickly in the ribs to shut him up.

"No mob I've ever seen uses portals," she croaked, breath catching in her throat.  "But, no icon?  That's...  our cue to leave.  Now."

Freyd hardly noticed them, or even the NPCs fleeing before his personal dark mood tsunami.  He'd sworn himself off this path, given it up in light of a better more virtuous option.  Yet, here he was: cowl borne as a yawning portal to the deepest, darkest corners of the cold machine mind he'd spent years trying to escape.  Seeing that name.  Feeling somehow responsible. Or, maybe... maybe he was just angry at the injustice of the world, enough to shake and shatter a few pillars of its foundations until his thoughts made sense, or he broke something vitally important. In himself, or the world at large.  Both were viable outcomes in that moment.