Quip

"YOU!"  Pudgy fingers pointed accusingly at a nearby sheep, the critter remaining completely oblivious to its impending doom.  "I'm gonnae rip yer innards oot 'n' uise thaim as a poke. Noo git ower 'ere 'n' intae mah pocket sae ah kin git back tae Landon 'n' be dane wi' this bloody chore."   Grabbing the fluffy beast by the scruff, she shook it madly like it might somehow shed its skin and morph into precisely needed, even though she'd already forgotten whatever it was she'd been sent to fetch.  Big on passion.  Short on attention span.  It had taken her nearly a week of painstaking effort to arrange the garbage heap that Freyd pretended was his shop.  That was likely the true cause of her meltdown, she finally realized, halting her sheep shakedown at the epiphany, its scrambled braying bringing her back to reality.

"What an ass," she fumed, silently admitting how thoroughly he excelled at getting under her skin.

***

ID 213364  | Gathering | LD 20+6=26 (Mat found 3/5)

Translation:

By this point, Quip had given up trying to get mats from pure slaughter.  Not that she wasn't capable.  The sheer sparkle factors glittering across the fields demonstrated her prowess.  The mobs were all just too low level to be worth anything, even at her meager rank.  

"Come oan! Yin o' ye mist be worth something toward making this happen."   Gasping for breath more out of the expectation that she should than because it was actually required, Quip leaned against a solitary oak growing proud and tall in the middle of the grasslands.  A small rise at its base gave way to a pocket or niche below where Freyd recalled having found one of his first treasure chests.  It all seemed trivial now, but its magnificence was unparalleled at the time.

"Nothing bit damned hollows, either in th' ground or oan four feet!"   Stomping back into the grasslands, she surveyed for other potential options.

***

ID 213363  | Gathering | LD 4+6=10 (Mat found 2/5)

Translation:

"Get ower 'ere ye lousy piece o' self-propelled future bacon!  Ye'r aff tae be a song!"  Quip still hadn't quite grasped the concept of gathering being a murder-free activity.  As far as she was concerned, death creates mats and mats create everything else, therefore death creates everything else.  It didn't quite work that way.  Fortune and a hand in shadow arranged that she would trip over the appropriate gathering node along the way.  This exercise would require a staggering amount of premeditated stumbling, but it had to be done.  It already took a considerable effort not to laugh, just watching her rage across the fields in her musical crusade.  There was a Von Trapp meme in there somewhere, but Freyd was too busy to develop the thought any further.  

As headstrong as Quip could be, she still had a wibbly-wobbly centre.  She kept the world at bay with volume and attitude, but it didn't mean she'd gotten over the death of her sister.  Maeve's name was still hard to hear.

***

ID 213322  | Gathering | LD 17+6=23 (Mat found 2/5)

Translation:

"Hey, ah think a'm finally getting th' haun o' this." As horrible an ordeal as the last few days had been, Landon actually had to agree, mostly because he was sure she'd put him in a headlock again if he didn't.  A knock on the shop door nearly caused his frazzled nerves to break, launching him into the rafter.  Opening it but a crack, he found a small boy with a neatly wrapped parcel under his arm.  

"Package for Quip, Sir.  I was told to get it here right away.  It's from her brother."  Uncertain what to make of it, but tired of being held hostage in his own home and receiving an increasing number of daily death threats, he needed to do something to get her out.  Something slipped out from the string on the underside of the goods.  It was a small folded note addressed to him.  Glancing surreptitiously at it, he didn't recognize the writing.

Staring in silence, Landon couldn't even guess who might have sent this, but he was desperate enough to accept anything.

"Hey!  Landon.  Git yer butt back 'ere! a've git anither tune tae huv a go oot oan you."

She never asked him what he was chewing on when he returned.

***

Quip receives and consumes: Berry Crumb Bars (Snack) | LOOT DIE 3 195132-4

Quip receives and equips: 
Small Konpeito Sack | TIER 1 DEMONIC TRINKET | LOOT DIE III, QUALITY I
A small cloth pouch of Konpeito; albeit, the candy inside isn't actually edible. Crafting ID: #185195

Updated stats:
Quip | HP: 80/80 | EN: 26/26 | DMG: 6 | MIT: 6 | THRNS: 9 | LD: 6 | Quality I

Translation:

"Whoa!  Lady.  Easy!"  Landon instantly backed off and got to work, thanking the stars that the system would simply manifest the required recipe.  He didn't actually have a clue how bagpipes were really made and now would never want to learn for fear of revisiting this trauma.  It took a while, and Quip hovering at his side fawning over him and asking a million unintelligible questions didn't help.  He just smiled and nodded a lot, instantly reversing his reactions if her mood appeared to sour.  By late evening, the Wee Beast, as she'd taken to calling it, was ready.  The cacophonous hell that followed made everything up until this point seem like sheer bliss.

"Hey!  Ye'r nae getting rid o' me that easy.  Ye made it, noo ye kin teach me howfur tae speil it."

Landon, who looked more haggard than the Time Forgotten King, struggled to keep his jaw from fumbling around on the floor.  She was dead serious.  And he was dead if he didn't.

Translation:

Landon's brain nearly short-circuited when Quip returned, a full sheepskin in her arms and partially obscuring her gleaming green eyes poking out behind it.

"There!"

He looked confused.

"There what?"

"There's th' material ye wantit tae mak' th' bagpipes."  

He'd already completely forgotten.  

"Oh!  Right.  Those.  See, the thing is, what I actually need are crystals.  It's how the whole performer profession thing worked."  Quip's eager expression had already turned to whatever most befits the gathering of thunderclouds under a tornado watch with a touch of air raid sirens.

"Ye said mats.  Ah git mats.  We hud a deal, pal. Mak' wi' th' bagpipes 'n' teaching, or ah will see tae it that ye'll ne'er be able tae wear a kilt wi'oot th' dread o' eternally shaming yer ain manhood." Whatever Quip currently thought of her spoopy former landlord, the time she'd spent in his shop had taught her a lot of valuable things about haggling, notably include when to rip out the other party's gullet.  'Killer instinct' didn't quite seem to capture her aggressive style.  "Ahem," she added, switching back to a sickly sweet tone undermined by the psycho in her batting eye lashes.  "Please."

Translation:

Harassing every local on the streets quickly proved unsuccessful.  Most were just terrified of her, and the rest were threatening to duel her if she didn't get the hell away from them.

"Prissy bunch o' jackasses!  A' a'm waantin' is a handful o' mats.  Howfur solid kin that mibeez aye, mibeez naw be? Freyd hud thoosans o' th' bloody thing laying aroond a' ower th' place."  Memories of her failed and aborted sorting session only riled her temper even more and she soon stomped out the main gates to continue her search.  Accustomed to the wide variety of goods that Freyd frequently brought back from his adventures and dumped onto her lap, Quip knew that they could be just about anything.  Unfortunate, she'd never actually had to find any herself, and her patience was having a decidedly 'off' day. Wandering into the fields, she simply walked up to the nearest wandering boar.  A quick slice of her sword split the poor, harmless critter in half, while also depositing a handful of leather into her Quip's inventory.  

"Pffft..."  He guffawed incredulously at the ease of the whole affair. "And he aye made sic a bloody muckle deal tae mak' it oot lik' this wis some sort o' hardship.  Lightweight!"   Her fist clenched about the sword, she shook both threateningly as the sky ceiling. "Do ye hear that, Freyd?!  Ye'r a daft lightweight!" 

***

ID 213298  | Gathering | LD 15 (mat found!)

Translation:

"Hey, YOU!"  The same booming, barking voice that regularly scared her brother out of his second storey hammock wreaked havoc on the nerves the poor, random player she'd chosen to accost in the lonely alley. "Where dae ah git stuff tae mak' instruments?" 

"Where do you what?"  The accent was causing some problems, but Cardinal's best efforts were only able to achieve so much.  "Materials?  Is that what you want?  You'll either have to trade for them or go gather them in the wilds yourself."  The poor man was about to make some smartass comment about how much of a newb she had to be to ask such a stupid questions. The crazed intensity and her eyes and fact that she was thicker and wider than he was made him think twice.  Quip's build was rather stocky, which she normally concealed beneath her comfy peasant clothes and leather apron, but those were presently off limits.  She was on a quest to do... something.  Truth be told, she had no idea what, but it had to be something certain to annoy Freyd.  Learning to play the bagpipes seemed absolutely perfect.

Translation:

"Hiiiiiii," she said, swooning so hard it might cripple him if she fell. "A'm Quip.  Urr ye single?"  Thick, brushy eyebrows winked and twirled at him in a disturbingly mesmerizing fashion.

"Lan... uh... Landon?"  Some doubt crept in, uncertain that it was safe to reveal his identity to this maniac. "Single?  Yeah, I guess.  Running solo is kinda my thingm though, if that's what your asking."  His fight and flight instinct were searching for a third option, not liking either default odds in the face of the current situation.  "Can I help you with something?"  Quip blushed a deep maroon, as if her greatest wish were about to be granted, and then reality reasserted itself - hard.  Realizing where she was and how she'd manhandled the poor man, her mind reeled to find any other explanation than sure pure emotion. 

"Music.  Err.. song.  BAGPIPES!"  Landon heard the metaphorical needle rip across the record player, hammered by a total non-sequitur.  

"Bagpipes?"

"Yes!  Ye hae pipes,"  she said, ogling the man's mightily muscled arms.  "I mean: dae ye hae ony bagpipes?" 

Sensing a way out of his predicament, Landon's wits kicked into overdrive.

"Oh, shoot, you know, I think I just sold my last set..."

"Not a kinch! Ah will git ye some mats 'n' ye kin whip up some mair in a jiffy!"  Before he could say another word, the blonde hurricane had hurtled back out the door, leaving the stunned musician wondering who and what had actually just happened.

Translation:

The crescendo nearly made her ears bleed even as her eyes twitch in time with the beat and her feet were already tapping along as an involuntary reflex.  As the man finished, his heavily calloused finger plucking the chords like a maestro, his face twisted in a rictus grin of manic intensity, he swung around and held his final note for a full minute, trying to eek every possible second out of the tune.  Quip's brain noticed that his eyes were closed, but hers were in full blown rapture.  As far as she was concerned, he was gorgeous.  And then the string snapped.  A yelp and lashed fingertip.  A gasp of awe and concern.  A guitar tossed violently.  An explosion of wood and strings against the far wall.

"Urr ye a'richt!?  did ye hurt yersel'?"

Landon whirled, not having realized that someone else had entered the shop and nearly elbowed Quip in the face.

"What the?!  Who are you, and OWWWW!"  He burst out laughing at the sheer chaos of the scene, thoroughly unconvinced that the newcomer had actually said anything sensible.  

Instantly grabbing his injured hand into hers, Quip was already fondling it with uncomfortably tender strokes, her natural brawn drawing winces of terror and confusion from the artist.  Landon, for his part, was convinced that she was some sort of molesting hooligan who'd somehow found a way around the system's rules against inappropriate touching.  Finally able to stop the room from spinning, he found himself staring into a pair of humungous, speckled green goo-goo eyes wrapped beneath the wildest and thickest blonde braids imaginable.

Translation:

Still fuming after her latest knock-down drag out argument with Freyd, Quip had stormed her way back to the Town of Beginnings stopping the portal at every level on the way down.  She'd assumed that touring about the different scenery might calm the thrumming of her veins and pulse, but it all just worked to piss her off even more.  

"Tha' damnable ingrate!  efter a' a've dane fur him.  He aye doesn't appreciate th' single smallest gesture.  Awa' an' bile yer heid Freyd!"

Completely lost, she found herself standing outside a music shop in some rundown narrow alley of what could only be assumed to be the seedier side of town.  Some damn fool was making a racket inside and her mood wouldn't stand for it.  Bursting into poor Landon's shop, Quip stood ready to yank his gob out and feed it to him raw if he didn't put a cork in it immediately.  Instead, the celtic dervish found herself standing mesmerized and staring open-mouthed at the outrageous display of teen rock drama playing itself out in the form a fifty year old, three hundred pound man with an oversized lute in his hands.

***

Quip | HP: 80/80 | EN: 26/26 | DMG: 6 | MIT: 6 | THRNS: 9

Translation:

Bright blonde brows raised in surprise, but not by due of arrival as she'd heard Bismuth's footsteps upon entry.  It was the compliment that caught her off guard.  She was short, gazing up at him from a full head's height lower than his own with a pair of eyes like shining emeralds.  Thick braids dangled about broad shoulders that made her seem more likely to be a blacksmith than a shopkeeper, as implied by her stained and heavily wrinkled apron.

"Most fowk dinnae aim fur th' favoured punter discount ferr sae brazenly, bit keep it up braw. Ye'r daein' juist fine."    Her eyes raced down and up again, leading the man to wonder whether he was being appraised himself, and whether as a prize or a meal, or both.  "Can't think o' tae mony hings jumping aff th' stock list that wid draw ye tae this hellhole, bit ye'r certainly fàilte tae tak' a gander."  

"Linger as lang as ye like,"  she added with a disturbingly coarse attempt at being sultry.  The anime style of SAO's rendered avatars could make it tough to get a read on a player's age, but something told him she was a few years older than him.  "I'm Quip, at yer service," she added, leaning against the only bare spot on the otherwise cluttered counter and gazing dreamily in his direction. 

Her mood shifted visibly towards surprise and disappointment when she mentioned the shop's titular owner by name.  "Oh.  You're just looking for him?  Yeah.  Sec.  I think he's actually around here somewhere, for a change."

"FREYD!" She roared, sounding like some angry den mother or lioness calling a wayward cub.  "Oh.  Ye'r juist keekin fur him? Aye. Sec.  Ah think he's actually aroond 'ere somewhere, fur a change." 

***

Translations:

Quip | HP: 80/80 | EN: 26/26 | DMG: 6 | MIT: 6 | THRNS: 9

Bushy braids of blonde watched them from a distance, feeling every pang of panic, fear and insecurity flow through the pair squatting in the middle of the pond.  They were like kites, casting about for a tether in the wind, not realizing that they need only hold on to each other.  It had taken long enough, but maybe they'd finally started to figure things out.  She shook her head, smiling at the way people insisted on dancing endlessly around each other.  Her usual approach was just to mash them together until the parts were made to fit, but these two seemed to need time and a slow simmer instead.

"Good ye, eddy.  'N' ye tae, freyd.  Ye ridiculously naïve pair o' knobs." 

Quip turned, heading back towards the shop atop the bowl, content that her work here was done.  Now, she only needed to figure out how she was going to make them blush incessantly when they wandered back up together.  

Thread Summary:

8526 words / 30 = 284*5= 1420*Tier
8526 / 300 = 28 seeds

Elora receives:

Freyd receives:

Quip receives:

"You beat Hephaestus at his ain gam? Isnae he th' yin thay ca' th' 'lame' god?  Howfur solid cuid that hae bin? Picking oan unfortunates?!  PITY OAN YE, KOGA!!!" 

The heads of several nearby players poked up from behind hedges and gullies, drawn by the sudden and dramatic cry.  Nothing said had seemed inflammatory, yet the unpredictable woman had flared from casual chatter to embarrassingly loud outrage in less than five seconds.  Her barking accusations set to the local wildlife scampering for cover, her wild eyes daring him to respond in kind.

"First ye'r killing babies, 'n' noo ye'r 'ere tae STEAL MATS from thae brassic unfortunate souls?!  Whit urr ye planning tae dae, juist run thaim through?"   Turning to address the other bewildered players, her arms flailed randomly about, accompanied by her braids.  "GET OOT O' 'ERE, A' O' YE, WHILE YE AYE KIN!!! HE'S GAEN RAVING MAD!"    A quick glance at black-clad Koga and this crazed woman spawned doubts enough that the lot of them turned and wandered off.  A few spared sympathetic looks for Kyra but departed all the same.

Dropping her arms abruptly, Quip dropped the act the moment they were out of sight.  Wandering over to where one of the other players had quit the field, she bent low, grabbed some oddly-shaped bit of something and tossed it in the air, catching it and stuffing it into a pouch with a single twist of her wrist.  Spinning on the spot, a broad, toothy smile spread across her squarish, somehow-elfin face, even as her eyes winked madly at her companions.  

"Psychology!"

***

Translation:

***

Quip's ears perked up.  Her head followed, poking up out of the grass like an overly curious marmot, little tufts of sod and reeds sticking out of her tightly braided hair at odd angles.

"Psychology?  Is that th' yin that hauns oot gear lik' candy, or th' ither yin? Ah kin ne'er remember."  Genuine consternation crossed Quip's face as she struggled to reconcile vague recollections, ending only with a shrug and resumed search.  "I dinnae ken howfur ye'v managed tae git oot o' toun at a'. Hings seemed tae be getting worse, nae better.  Though, ah suppose, thare ur fewer o' us tae treat than thare were."   Her stout shoulders slumped a bit.  "Hrm.  Ah jalouse ah juist answered mah ain question." 

Eager to transition away from troublesome thoughts, Quip turned her gaze back towards Koga, her mischievous twinkle returning in the process.  

"What aboot ye, dark-and-stormy?  Ye keek lik' ye'v bin aroond th' block a few times.  Whit's it pure lik' in th' wilds o' Aincrad?  Did ye catch up wi` ony crakin' dragons?  Did ye slay thaim?!"  Her eyes crackled with a frantic mixture of anticipation and pent up rage, before abruptly dissolving into child-like glee. 

"Ooooo!  Daisies!!!" 

***

Translation:

***

"Freyd's an ah kent that awreedy bahookie , wha wouldn't recognize a feeling if it slapped him o'er th' coupon lik' a drookit fish!"  She guffawed loudly, never missing an opportunity to rag on the man. "Bit, aye, he kin an' a' be a gid sort in his ain wey. Juist dinnae ever tell him ah said so." Shuffling over to a small patch of long grasses, Quip poked about between the blades, but failed to find anything of value or interest.  A rather startled-looking frog was tossed randomly over he shoulder as she delved into the depths of the foliage without success.

"And dinna fash yirsel aboot Maeve, bit ta fur yer concern.  She wis a guid bairn, 'n' died as carefree as she lived."   Quip's lips pursed and eyes closed momentarily until the wave of emotions subsided, doing her best to keep her back to her companions while it passed.  That was simply how it was going to be, until the pain numbed further. 

"What hae ye bin daein' a' this time Kyra?  Crafting?  Fun yersel' a hobby... Or mibbie," Quip's head perked up, a half dozen reeds sticking our of her hair, with the wild look of a feral feline that had just found a patch of catnip in her eyes, "a boyfriend?!"  She grinned from ear-to-ear, that wild, mischievous look flaring back into her sparkling blue eyes.

"You better keep edgy, Koga! Kyra, 'ere, is oan th' prowl!  HAR! HAR! HAR! HAR! HAR!"

***

Translation:

***

A surprisingly kind and sympathetic smile swept across Quip's features, softening with the appearance of wrinkles around her eyes and creases at the edges of her lips.  She'd know the sort of overwhelming emotions that seemed to be plaguing this girl.  She's watched her sister die and lost herself to the grief.  That sort of thing took its toll, and for all her brutish, over-the-top behavious, Quip had a kind soul.

"There, thare, Eddie," she said, patting the taller girl gently on the shoulder.   "Freyd's bin a richt, mirk fankle tae, sin he returned.  Wilnae blether aboot it wi' a'body, save mibbie ye. Ah dinnae think he kens whit's richt or wrong in thae situations, 'n' he hasn't pushed fur he didnae wantae hurt you."    Quip rolled her vibrant blue eyes and helped Elora along by the forearm.  "You twa juist need tae learn tae blether tae ilk ither, 'n' nae worry sae muckle aboot th' rest o' th' world fur awhile." 

Wiping her muck-covered hands on her armor, Quip led them both back to Freyd Edges, nestled in the ruins of an ancient monastery to a race of people who had nearly faded from memory on the thirteenth floor.

"DINGO!"  She barked, completely without warning and with full drill-sergeant's authority. A lanky form fell out of a recently repaired hammock, crashing down into a pile of unidentifiable junk, like so many others strewn all over Freyd's shop.

"Whuh?  Who?!"

"Where th' hell is Freyd?  Th' baw juggler haes company!"    Quip grinned and beamed a smile at her younger brother, winking towards Elora with her eyes.   "Eddie's 'ere tae set th' brassic laddie straecht, 'n' hopefully fin' some comfort fur herself.  Noo, whaur is th' lout?" 

"He's... uh..."  Dingo blinked a few times, still trying to wake up and possibly mildly concussed.  “He’s down by the pond, past the slime farm, I think?”   The scrawny boy rubbed his head in a way that might also have been meant as a welcome to the newcomer.  It was tough to tell.

***

Translations

"What?!  Awready? Luck o' th' Scots, ye hae thare, lassie - forgoat th' Irish!  'N' ye kin ca' me Quip," she added, jabbing her sword into a small opening at the base of a nearby tree, scaring the hell out of a pair of squirrels in the process.  Once the den was clear, she reached in, almost up to her shoulder, and rummaged around blindly.  "Oh, a'm far fae green.  Maeve, Dingo 'n' ah wur daein' real weel oan oor ain, up as heich as th' third, if ah recall, whin hings whin sour."  

A mix of grief and elation flashed across her face as she yanked her arm free, holding a lump of something brown that seemed to satisfy her. 

"Maeve bought it whin she raced aff ahead tae open herself a mimic.  Ah coudnae reach her in time."   Quip sniffed, hard, then mashed her lips into a grimace that seemed intent to shove unbidden tears back down and away.  A quick wipe on her sleeve averted her gaze from the others long enough to quell the pangs.  It had been ages, yet the loss of her younger sibling still stung deep.

"We raced up tae thirteen oan some damned, gowk hush-mush that thare wis some artifact up thare that cuid raise her fae th' deid, if we wur fleet enough.  Bloody glaikit thing tae dae, bit ye dae that fur kin, richt? Quaestor caught win` o' whit we wur up tae 'n' hud th' guid sense tae send Freyd efter us."  She spared a moment to wipe the excess brown onto her armor.  "We wur neck-deep in zombie-folk by th' time thay fun us, 'n' it aye teuk baith thair efforts tae haul us out."    Sliding her sword back into her scabbard with more force than intended, she turned her fierce blue eyes back to Koga.  There was anger in them, but only directed at herself.  "No.  Nae green at a'. Th' systems juist... furgets ye some... If sit dolly tae long." 

Turning back to her search, her chatter faded in and out in the breeze as it rode across the meadow.  "Freyd cut a deal wi' Dingo, mah brother, 'n' ah. We tended tae his shop while he galivanted aboot, 'n' git a steid tae bade. A'm thankful fur it, bit it's aboot time tae pat mah bahookie back intae gear." 

***
Translation:

***

The full tale of Quip and Dingo's original appearance and rescue was told here:

***

"Yeah! A'm fae th' maist amazing steid oan th' planet! Cannae ferr steid yer accent, though, bonny lassie. Ye keek lik' yin o' thaim bonny russian dancer types, though - a' graceful, 'n' stuff." 

A full head shorter than both of her companions, Quip seemed completely unintimidated by the difference.  She was by far the broadest and most solidly built of the three and grinned like a madwoman as she grasped Kyra's hand and physically dragged the two other players out the main gates.  To anyone watching she must have looked like an over-enthusiastic tween dragging a pair of beleaguered parents through the entry of a brand new theme park or county fair, save that he face was too worn and weathered at the edges to be so young. Her spirit shone through, nonetheless, and the fire behind her brilliant blue eyes had finally been rekindled.

"Come oan, ye lot! A've bin cooped up behind a counter, tending shop, fur wey tae lang. Let's god fin' stuff!!!" 

Rushing forward to the nearest rock, she released her grasp on the others and grabbed a large-ish boulder, hefting it with both hands and tossing it aside like a competitor at some form of Highland games.  All she found were a pair of very embarrassed potato bugs in what might have been a compromising position, but she wasn't really sure.

"Damn!  Neist one!" 

***

Translation:

***

"Keek, ah dinnae pure mind whit he said.  Some auld fogey accosted me while ah wis traivelin thro' toun 'n' shored me a jab. Ah said aye. Aw the info wur yammered.  Bit ah'ament aboot crawling aroond oan mah hauns 'n' knees picking herbs 'n' jobby. Ah will bring ye back something ye kin uise; mibbie git yersel' some blood fae a stane or something, bit ah dinnae pick petals fur a' body!"

The clamor was coming from Zackariah's shop, where a short, stout figure in badly battered plate waved her hands around in an agitated manner.  Two tight blonde braids bounced around on her back while she railed.  If it wasn't for the pitch of her voice, from behind, she could easily have been confused for any other stoic boy-tank.  Stumbling around and stomping out the door, Quip set half the glass in the alchemist's shop rattling, and that was just from the power of her lungs.  Freckle-faced with strong bone structure and arms thick enough to belong on a blacksmith, blue eyes spotted Koga as he stared at the sky.

"Awright, ye! whaur th' hell dae ye gang tae fin' materials aroond 'ere? Dufus in th' shop behind me needs ithers tae bend ower oan his behauf!"

She had the swagger and confidence of a vet married with the gear of a novice, and didn't seem to care what anyone thought about either.  Closing the distance between them, Quip looped an arm around the poor man's elbow and started pulling him towards the gate as if no objections were ever to be fathomed.  Everything about her was coarse and enticing, all at once, including the life-loving twinkle that had only recently rekindled in her eyes.

"Better yit, braw, how come dinnae ye leid th' way?" 

***

Translations:

***

Quip | HP: 20/20 | EN: 20/20 | DMG: 6 | MIT: 6 | ACC: 2 | EVA: 0 | BH: 0 | LD: 3 | THORNS: 9

Playtest Notes:
(Tech Specialist (+[x4] for +3 EN , +Stamina, +Ferocity, +Precision, + Focus)

Full Stats:

"Howfur oan earth is a'body expected tae survive surroondit by endless hordes o' shambling bodies, while squatting in th' squalor that is this man's shop?!" 

Quip was on another cleaning tirade.  Freyd was off skulking about some dungeon or other, as usual, and Dingo was likely taking his third nap of the day.

"A've hud it wi' this jobby.  Dingo!  a'm aff hoorin'.  Dinnae gie th' entire inventory awa'.  Speaking o' whilk, a'm taking this, that, 'n' whitevur th' hell this is suppose tae be.  Freyd owes us some back pay." Grabbing a few loose items from amidst the seemingly piles of not-yet-junked junked, she salvaged a few pieces that might be of use, then barged out the front gates of the monastery like a woman on a mission.

***

Quip takes:

Flashy Distraction | T1 Rare Shield | TAUNT, THORNS 1
Acquisition ID: #152424 | Identification ID: #152428 & 152429
An ornate silvered buckler conveniently sized to also amuse its owner as a throwing disc during moments of relaxation.

Wayfinder | Tier 1 Perfect Trinket | LOOT DIE III
Crafting roll | #150876 
A star-shaped charm made up of various translucent teal-coloured petals, framed with silver and held together with taut strings. At its center is a stylized metal heart, and at one of the petals' ends is a loop tied with a knot, so that the charm is capable of being hung or locked around another object. The item calls back to a foreign myth, representing an unbreakable connection between holders of these charms. (CRAFTED: http://www.sao-rpg.com/topic/18303-f01-r9-artisan-the-evening-star-open/?do=findComment&comment=620951)

Inquisitor's Ring | Tier 1 Perfect Trinket | ACC 2, REC 1
Acquisitiion [181458b] | Roll ID: 186919, 186920, 186921
A small iron ring with a hammered finish, reinforcing the bearer’s determination to get to the heart of any matter. (IDENTIFIED: +0)

A muscled, heavily callused hand grabbed Elora from behind, covering her mouth and whipped the rest of her harshly down into the same muck that had suctioned her foot into the ground.  What first resembled one of the shambling diseased humanoids that plague the thirteenth floor surprised her when it spoke.  Or, at least, tried to through a set of pearly clenched teeth and Scottish brogue so thick that most could barely understand a word she was saying.

"Urr ye trying tae bring doon hauf th' flair oan yersel'.  Shut yer gob 'n' wifie up, or ye'r aff tae git us baith murdurred.  Ye'r that lassie Freyd's ne'er gaun oan aboot, bit ceaselessly seems tae dwell upon, aren't ye?  Edwina, or somesuch, wannit?"  A shift in the ever-present miasmic fog that blankets every inch of the floor revealed tightly bound blonde braids.  The rest of the short, stocky figures form was clad in heavy armor that made her look like a crazed Viking on a flustering laundry day.  "Stoap glaring 'n' juist nod!  Ah will git yer shank oot, if ye kin keep yer banshee's wail silent fur a minute."

Raising a bushy eyebrow until Elora confirmed with a jostle of her head, Quip slowly released her grip and then turned her attention to the fastened boot.  With unexpected tenderness, following her abrupt arrival, she eased Elora's foot from its wear.  Then, switching back into furious rage mode, she reefed on the boot with all her might, causing her arms to bulged impressively until a lengthy, sickening *schlorp*  sent it flying upward with unexpected force.  It came crashing back down right next to Elora's head, splattering both of them with muck.

Suppressing a slightly maniacal chuckle, the stout warrior-woman held out her hand to help Elora back to her feet.

"A'm Quip.  Nice tae mak yer acquaintance.  Noo, let's git th' hell oot o' 'ere afore something tries tae sloch us.  Ye kin fill me in aboot Freyd 'n' a' his nonsense while we donder. Yea?"

@Elora

   "Look 'ere, ye juvenile smurf!  Ah'ament yer buddy, 'n' ah'ament yer slave either!.  Freyd, Dingo 'n' ah hae beeen spending all oor time 'ere fur ye, fur free!  Freyd even supplied th' crafting respites 'n' used up yin o' they bloody event items fur ye.  Sae stuff yer wit ye hink, 'n' if yi'll waant someone tae ca' a cheapskate, ah will sell ye a frikkin mirror!"

~Quip