[PP-F28] The Two Faces of Glyndebourne

[Morningstar 0]

this thread directly follows "the endless maze" ft. freyd & morningstar

***

Like magic, the face of his friend morphed into that of his enemy. The last thing he noticed before passing around the corner and out of sight was the Whisper's vanishing cursor and a trio of armed Glyndebourne guards stopping to make sure "she" was okay.

He clambered up a short set of stone stairs, bumping into NPCs and players alike, desperate to avoid his pursuers. More guards had caught wind of the chase and decided to join in. He stopped just past an intersection between four streets, panicking at the sight of the shouting, spear-wielding soldiers that had began to point in his direction. He spun, intent on back tracking, but saw that the path behind him was blocked by more of the same. He cursed aloud. The crowd of passersby were not great enough in size to obscure him from sight. He was out in the open with few places to run—his last resort being a dark and possibly damning alleyway. Out of time, he committed to it, dashing into the shadow of the street. From behind, he could hear the guards plotting the end to their chase.

"He went in there!"

"It's a dead end! There's no where left to run!"

"The magistrate wants him alive!"

It was impossible to tell from his perspective outside, but they were correct: the alleyway was a dead end. Face to face with a towering and unclimbable wall, he had reached the end of his ideas. He drew his sword, conflicted by the thought of fighting his way out of the city. What would the outcome of such violence be? He imagined the colour of his cursor changing from green to orange, inexplicably forcing him to live his life branded with the mark of a murderer. He pictured dead guards littering the streets of the city, disintegrating beneath the setting sun while he escaped into the wilds of the twenty-eighth floor. Where would he go? How would he even get off the floor? Were there teleporters in places unrestricted to orange players? Metal boots clanked against stone as the guards closed in on the alley.

"Hey, you! In here!" A hushed voice called.

It pulled him out of his own head. The words came from a hole in the wall, large enough to fit a human.

"Last chance!" The voice came again.

With little choice but to listen, he dropped to all fours and shimmied his way through the hole. A man, a little over six feet tall and balding, waited on the other side. Before saying another word, the man crawled back through the hole and covered up the evidence with a large cardboard box that sat in the alley.

It was a small space that he had found his way into. He looked about at the odds and ends that lined the tall displays and immediately realized that it was a tailor's shop. Clothing, as well as light armor, was set up on cheaply crafted mannequins. Do-it-yourself tailoring kits had their own section directly beside the entrance. The man rejoined him, pushing him into the back room and offering him a seat at what looked like a workstation. 

"You're bloody lucky you found your way here. They'd just about caught you," the man said, his accent more clear now. "What's your name, son?"

"Morningstar," he replied, still dazed from the adrenalized chase. "Who are you?"

"Oh,  just an old man who's concerned with the state of his city. My name is Henry."

[ lv. 50  ->   l. 33 / p. 17 ] MORNINGSTAR | HP: 828/828 | EN: 110/110 | DMG: 28 | MIT: 60 | EVA: 6 | ACC: 4 | AA | BH: 39 | LD: 8 (9) | VO: 118 | REC: 4 | PHASE   Hide contents notes.   Hide contents equipped soulcursed blade VO II, AA, PHASE red longcoat EVA II, REC I sapphire ACC III, EVA I battle-ready inventory healing salve | HP III (x5) health potion | HP I (x5) teleport crystal magdalyn's cuckoo  skills.   Hide contents mod count: 3/5 2HSS | RANK 5/5 precision, stamina, ferocity shift: tech CLOTH ARMOR | RANK 5/5 athletics, nimble COMBAT MASTERY: DMG | RANK 3/3 SEARCHING | RANK 4/5 (5) night vision, detect BATTLE HEALING | RANK 5/5 ENERGIST CHARGE extra SURVIVAL FORGOTTEN KING'S AUTHORITY LADY LUCK DISGUISE buffs.   Hide contents statue n/a consumables  liquor of light | DMG III mortal instants | MIT III smores | EVA II shadows withal | OH III gelato | LD III mousse | Prosperity III breakfast fry | Protein II paragon Lv. 5 | Gain additional col equivalent to 15% of EXP earned in that thread. Lv. 10 | +1 LD to applicable rolls arts.   Hide contents en cost matches multiplier unless stated otherwise. shift underlined. ST | x12 -> x15 | x20 AOE | x11 -> x14 TECH-A | x16 | STUN | 13EN TECH-B | x16 | DELAY TECH-D | x16 | SHATTER TECH-F | x12 | AOE STUN misc.   Hide contents Well Rested | -1 energy cost for the first three expenditures of each combat. Squeaky Clean | The first time you would suffer DoT damage in a thread, reduce damage taken from DoT each turn by 25% (rounded down). Filling | Increase the effectiveness of a single food item consumed in a thread by +1 T1 slot. This can exceed normal Cook enhancement caps. Ex: A perfect T2 MIT food gives 35 MIT instead of 30. Tasty | Turn 2 identical food items (same quality, tier, & enhancements) into a Lesser Feast. A Lesser Feast contains 4 portions of the food items sacrificed. Lesser Feasts created this way cannot be used outside of the thread they are created. Limit 1 item created per thread. Relaxed | Increases out-of-combat HP regen by (5 * Tier HP) and decreases full energy regen to 2 Out of Combat Posts. Multipurpose | Gain +1 to LD, Stealth Rating, Stealth Detection, or Prosperity to one post in a thread. Can be applied after a roll. Skylight (Searching) | +1 Expertise to declared utility skill.  gathering n/a

Edited March 10 by Morningstar

[Foyle 0]

A frantic coded message from Freyd had already sent O&I agents across multiple floors into a flurry of activity, each one preparing to coordinate a response.  Someone or something had just threatened their leader in a manner serious enough for him to send out a warning.  Aus and Sykes would already be martialing a strike team, but his role was rapid response and recovery.  The old warrior was in Glyndebourne and swapping out his clothing for more floor-setting-specific garb within minutes, nabbing a few unattended items and wandering through agitated crowds while bearing his best befuddled old man look.  He hadn't been given much to work with, and the brevity of the message spoke volumes to the potential magnitude of the threat.

What have you stumbled into this time, Freyd?

Floor 28 was still relatively unexplored.  O&I's efforts were already spread thin across the previous twenty-seven, and much of Firm Anima's resources seemed to be focused on other efforts.  He'd personally been tasked with searching for additional overspawn points after the recent events on floor two when the call came in.  Scouring for signs of fellow players, he found none - just the signs of a scuffle and a lot of agitated guards and bar patrons milling about aimlessly.  Pretending that his cart had been left on the far side of the street, Foyle made excuses to cross by the alley that carried so much of the mobs' attention, instantly digesting the critical details.  

"Forgive me, sir," he asked one of the red-clad soldiers milling about in an aimless effort to look busy.  "I left my coat inside," he gestured to one of the adjacent structures.  The guard looked hesitant, but Foyle had learned to lean into his wrinkled eyes when the need arose.

"Be quick, old-timer.  There might be trouble about."

Tipping the brim of his borrowed hat, the agent slipped into the house, hoping he might find someone to provide him with some answers.

***

Foyle | HP: 20/20 | EN: 20/20 | DMG: 2 

Spoiler

Foyle
Level: 1
Paragon Level: 0
HP: 20/20
EN: 20/20

Stats:
Damage: 2

Equipped Gear:
Weapon: 
Armor: 
Misc: 

Combat Mastery: - 
Combat Shift: -
Familiar Skill: -
Custom Skill:

Skills:
Straight Sword R1

Active Mods:

Inactive Mods:

Addons:

Active Extra Skills:

Inactive Extra Skills:

Battle Ready Inventory:

Housing Buffs:

Guild Hall Buffs:

Scents of the Wild:

Wedding Ring:                                           

 

Edited March 11 by Foyle

[Morningstar 0]

"You're not the first to have been hunted down by those guards. Strange times, strange times indeed," Henry said, pouring tea from a floral pot. He set down a mug for Morningstar, who's nerves were already settling down. The backroom, while small, was quite homely. He assumed that the old man lived there after hours. A carpeted stair case spiraled around the corner, and the blonde imagined a bedroom or a more private living space up above. He sipped his tea. Jasmine. The warmth was an unexpected but not unwelcome change.

"Strange times?" Morningstar framed it as a question, as if he were completely unaware of what the old man meant. "What do you mean?"

"The people, of course. They're changing, one by one, completely sporadically and without any explanation. Their voices get all... all distorted, as if multiple people are speaking at once but from a singular mouth. I witnessed it myself, once," he turned away, his voice darkening. "There was a man, just outside the butcher's shop. He got himself into some trouble—a fist fight, I think, with a larger fellow in one of them red coats. Nobody else seemed to notice."

Henry was visibly shaken up by the ordeal, but continued his speech nonetheless. "I didn't say anything or try to intervene. I took it that the redcoat had it under control, that the other man was just some thug looking for a fight. And then, I heard his voice. Bloody demonic."

Before another word could come out, a bell rang by the front entrance. Someone had entered the cozy little shop. The shopkeeper and his guest shared a look of panic, each thinking the same thing: a guard had wandered into the shop, intent on interrogating Henry and prodding for details about the criminal who had vanished from an inescapable alleyway. Carefully and quietly, Morningstar stood from his seat. The old man was intelligent, pouring out the contents of Morningstar's mug and tossing it in the sink. One less drink on the table would make the soon-to-be empty workspace far less suspicious.

"Quick," he whispered, "upstairs."

Morningstar did as he was told, tiptoeing to the top of the staircase, where he waited and listened. Henry took a deep breath, dusted himself off, and stepped out from the back to greet his customer. "Hello. How can I help you?"

Edited March 11 by Morningstar

[Foyle 0]

"Oh, um... hello there," Foyle replied, fumbling about as if age had taken its toll on his agility.  Wisps of white hair sprang out from beneath his hat at odd angles, giving him a wild sort of look that might have seemed feral in his younger days.  Now it just looked plain old sad, and he knew it.  "Did... did I leave my coat in here," he asked, his voice croaking with confusion.  It felt as though he was asking himself as much as the shopkeeper.

"No, I've afraid not.  You weren't in here earlier," came a kindly, jovial response.  Henry had more than a few aging relatives requiring regular care and was exceptionally familiar with their frequent walkabouts.

"Oh?  Are you sure?  It has a lovely emblem of a Morningstar on the back, I'm a...fraid."  Coughing for emphasis, the ancient-looking agent poked around around the shop, lifting doilies and other sundries far too small to ever possibly conceal something the size of his fictional garment.  "Hrmph... well, if it should happen to turn up, kindly have it sent to the inn across from the Naughty Pigeon.  Seems there's been some sort of kerfuffle over there, this afternoon, which might make it tricky to garner my evening constitutional."  Griping as he was, the visitor had a good laugh about it at the same time, taking circumstances in stride.  "Not like it's a real emergency or anything.  Probably just another drill or false alarm over nothing."

[Morningstar 0]

"It has a lovely emblem of a Morningstar on the back, I'm a...fraid."

Down the carpeted steps and around the bend of the private workstation came Morningstar, who was either walking straight into a trap or had deciphered a painfully obvious code sent by his transfiguring friend. He peeked around the corner and saw the grey-haired old man putting down a trinket of some sort. Henry denied seeing a jacket with anything on the back, kindly but defensively, fully aware that by doing so, he had become an accomplice in whatever this was.

Before the stranger could leave, Morningstar showed himself, now face-to-face with the pair of old timers. "It's okay, Henry. I think he's with us."

Neither of the players had used each other's names, as far as he could remember. It seemed unlikely that anyone unaffiliated with them would know to refer to them so specifically. Since he did not know the man, the only plausible case could be that he was an associate of Freyd.

"I take it we have a mutual friend," Morningstar crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "I imagine he's okay? We were separated in the commotion."

[Foyle 0]

"We do," replied the elder, "and he was, last I heard from him, but it may be some time before we can contact each other again."  Glancing casually behind him and out the shop's few windows, he stood to block any potential line of sight to Morningstar while appearing to be browsing wares - just in case someone outside peered in at an inopportune moment.  "What happened here?  We got a coded warning message requesting immediate assistance, but very few details.  Fortunately, I was already nearby doing some scouting."

Smiling pleasantly at the shopkeep, Foyle smiled jovially.  

"Of course I would, and thank you so much for inviting me in for tea.  I take it we should head downstairs?  Don't mind me, I'll simply lock and bar the door for you."  He had already turned, his actions foreshadowing his words as they cleaned up the trail of his entry, going so far as to flip the 'open' sign to 'closed' as he ushered them out of sight, bringing with him the last vestiges of lighting.  Hopefully, the guard who let him pass would simply think he was sheltering with an old friend.  Thing might get nasty, otherwise.

"Alright," he began, abruptly, once they were safely stowed away from prying eyes.  "You can call me Foyle.  Now, tell me everything."

[Morningstar 0]

Morningstar did not bother introducing himself; it seemed that Foyle already knew who he was. How much Freyd had managed to communicate with his contacts was left unclear, so he spared few details. He started from the alley, skipping the irrelevant parts prior and going straight into the action. "The safe zone turned off for some reason. I don't know if it was only for us or if it affected everyone in the city, but suddenly, we were fighting thugs in the middle of an alley."

"They were wearing these coats, too. They didn't disappear like most items do when the wearer dies. It was almost like a quest objective—or something like that, anyway. Except we didn't take on any quests."

If the panic in Morningstar's voice was not apparent, the bewilderment surely was. What he had observed in the streets of Glyndebourne was an anomaly and put the entire player population at risk. Anyone who entered the city's borders could be attacked randomly, and who could say whether that extended to other settlements or floors. Not even NPCs were safe. He thought of the barkeeper, whose life he had cut short earlier that day. There was a possibility that Sally would respawn, but perhaps she would not.

At the forefront of his mind was how abruptly the situation had escalated. In a minuscule amount of time, he had gone from a harmless civilian ready to explore the new floor to a criminal on the run. He continued, skipping forwards. "Freyd and I were split up after we—er, I caused some commotion. I caught the attention of the Glyndebourne guards, and now, here I am."

[Foyle 0]

Listening silently, Foyle's expression darkened at Morningstar's description of the sudden turn of events in the streets of Glyndebourne, but he held back his questions 'til the end.

"Could be an area quest," he posited, as much to assuage his own concerns as his companion's.  "The don't necessary require acceptance.  If it was somehow overlaid on the town, just emerging from the portal would trigger it."  Thanking Henry as the shopkeep handed him a steaming cup of tea, the fine china looked very out of place in the older man's rough, calloused hands.  

"Thank you," Foyle offered sincerely, meaning both for the beverage and the NPC's assistance.  

"I came through here shortly after the floor first opened and can't say that I've noticed much different.  The red coats you mentioned were being worn back then.  Seems like the entire floor has some sort of an autumn theme. There's even a forest that looks like its on fire nearby, just from the vibrancy of its foliage. My guess is that someone doubled-down on imagery of the American Revolution when coming up with this one."  Thick white eyebrows pointed all around them before settling back at ease.  The aged player had a mild and disarming manner.  His voice was quiet and sincere, yet passionate when he spoke.  "They have some magistrate backing them, but I've learned very little about whoever that might be.  Swap them in for an English governor, throw some tea overboard, and it all fits - except for your part of the tale."

Deep thought and a deep draught required a few moments, Foyle quietly smacking his lips as he pondered before beaming a please smile at their host to compliment its flavour.  

"There are many possibilities, none of them confirmable.  This might be a timed quest or event, passing when its window closes.  It could also be linked to the presence of the labyrinth guardian.  I've never faced one, but hear that they can have considerable influence over their floors.  Beyond that," he shrugged.  "Who knows whatever other rules Kayaba might break.  It's not exactly like he's acted honorably to date.  Maybe we should start by getting a better look at some of those coats?"

[Morningstar 0]

The idea of an area quest was not out of the question, but it didn't sit right with Star. He sipped from the teacup he had been handed and soaked in the warmth of the bitter drink. Magistrate was a familiar title to him. Both the guards and Sally had mentioned a magistrate. He imagined that whoever that was controlled the city. It seemed logical that they were behind the day's events.

"I had one but it got left behind on my way here. We could go back to the alley where Freyd and I split up. If it hasn't already been cleaned up, then some coats will be there," Morningstar frowned. "Of course, the streets are crawling with guards right now. I don't think they're my biggest fans. It could spell trouble if we're caught."

Henry cut in from the doorway, which he had snuck through while the other two discussed possibilities. "It just so happens I do quite a lot of work on those red coats. I received a damaged one just yesterday," he carried it to the table, placing it flat before them.

The maroon fabric was torn along the shoulder stitching and looked well-worn. Morningstar thanked the universe for leading him to a tailor of all people. "Do you mind?" Star asked, reaching out to touch the coat.

"Not at all."

He could testify that it was the same as the others he had seen but, to him, it just looked like a regular old jacket.

[Foyle 0]

"I don't suppose you're a tailor," added the scout, carefully setting his cup back in its saucer as if his mere touch might break either one.  "Never had much time for trades myself."  Walking over to better examine the garment, Foyle fished out a knife from beneath his own borrowed jacket and began poking and prodding the red garment like it had been peeled off a plague victim.  Watching his bushy white eyebrows rise and fall as he trailed suspicions through his explorations was borderline amusing.  Maybe he'd watched too many episodes of CSI, back in the day, and felt a need to be overly dramatic about the whole thing?  Honestly, Foyle was just spooked, though he would never have admitted it.  This sort of thing wasn't supposed to be possible.  More to the point, there were potentially nasty consequences if this did turn out to be some form of plague or infectious virus that had somehow wormed its way into Glyndebourne.

"This looks like one of the guardsmen's jackets," he confirmed, lifting its edges and noting some sort of unrecognizable royal crest or coat of arms on its brass buttons.  

"It was," Henry confirmed. "Can't say that I much appreciate the treatment that we get from the worst of the magistrate's men, but they're not all bad.  News has it that there was some trouble at the port in Blatchford, some months back.  It nearly led to a riot and the guards had to break things up forcefully.  Everyone's been on edge ever since, and the King's guard have doubled their presence here and everywhere."  

Foyle nearly missed it, half-listening to their host as he prodded and flipped searching the clothing for clues: a small tear near the cuff on the right sleeve.  He might have blinked and overlooked it, but something moved within the loose threads near the cut.

"Oh, yes, that was the issue with this one," Henry added, innocently reaching for the frayed fabric, his own hands concealing what the two players saw only as a bolting seam of blood-red thread darting from the uniform to Henry's apron.  "Wha... why.. why are you looking at me like that?"  Following the players' gaze down to his torso, it looked like he had been shot dead in the chest, a growing vermillion stain spreading across previously pristine white.  "What is... why... so cold..."  Something flashed behind the mob's eyes, echoed by the sound of a sickening crunch like something sinking its claws into a victim's corpse.

Lunging forward, Foyle swiped his blade before him, neatly slicing the upper straps of the apron below Henry's neck.  Grabbing on of his hands, he wrenched it behind the mob's back, hoping to joint lock him long enough for Morningstar to do the rest.

"Get it off him!  Quick!"

[Morningstar 0]

At first, Morningstar thought that the red thread had been some sort of insect that had buried its way in the jacket. It leaped so quick that he had hardly noticed it. The colour had given it away; crimson against an otherwise plain background. He didn't know what it was, but he had a feeling he had seen its effects before.

Foyle sprung into action, relinquishing the tailor of his apron. The thread lunged from the backside of the falling apron to Henry's chest, where it slithered around.

"Get it off him!  Quick!"

Decisively, Morningstar reached for the thread. It wove itself into the fabric of Henry's turtleneck, evading the blonde's desperate pinches. It was too small and thin to grab hold of, and on top of that, it was fast. It squirmed its way beneath the surface of the sweater and vanished, reappearing a moment later as the same growing circle as was on the apron.

He was too late. As it expanded, Henry's cursor recoloured itself from emerald green to bright orange. A sudden kick to Morningstar's gut winded him. The mob twisted out of Foyle's grip, reaching for a pair of tailoring scissors across the way. He charged at the old man, but found himself diverted off course an instant later. Henry was pinned to the wall, wriggling but unable to move.

A smile crept over the old tailor's wrinkled face. A vile laugh, corrupted by the parasite that had taken control, left his hoarse throat. "We fooound you," it hummed.

And then it broke free, pushing Morningstar aside with more force than the tailor ever could have produced on his own. The scissors that had fallen to the floor were back in the mob's grip. It lunged, poised for his throat.

The swordsman was ashamed of what he did next—what he had to do next. Red burst from Henry's torso, a single diagonal line in its wake. The man who had saved Morningstar's life crumpled to the floor, and his health points depleted to zero.

[Foyle 0]

Tossed aside by Henry's sudden, unexpected vigor, Foyle stumbled backwards crashing into the table and chairs.  While the other two tussled, he struggled his way through a prison of jumbled, collapsed furniture to regain footing too late to be of any help.  Morningstar had already done what was necessary.  The strain of it showed on the younger man's face even as their host disintegrated before them both.

"Be careful," he caution, still hoarse from having his wind knocked out.  "The worm might still survive him, just as it did previous possessions."  Grabbing a nearby lantern, he shone it where the last of the shopkeeper's fragments struck and slowly melted into the floorboards - an ignoble end to an otherwise decent fellow.  Did he have family?  Was there someone else they should tell?  Did mobs even actually have next of kin?  Raised and set aside just as quickly, the agent's wit was already set to triage and alternative action.  Their best lead had just fractured and died, and the thing responsible might still be loose in the same room.  

"Can you see it anywhere?"  Sweeping the light helped, but only so much.  Foyle's words were also hissed between clenched teeth to keep from alerting the hostile guards likely still lingering just outside the walls.  It was like being stuck in a shark tank, knowing the clock was ticking 'til your breath ran out, but that darting for the surface would also cause it to pounce.  The math was clear.  Star was the better warrior and more valuable asset.  Making for the trap door ladder, Foyle drew the thing's attention.  If it controlled him, it controlled the exit.  Someone also needed to determine whether these things could actually possess players, and he knew that his companion could defeat him with ease.

It sprang, zipping across the open room like a snapped rubber band and striking him on the upper arm, trying desperately to burrow its way into his sleeve without success.  A whirl and flick, as if delivering a blow with a blade he wasn't actually wielding, was all it took to toss it back again onto the table where it laid dazed.

"Nothing more than a bit of string?!  Cut it to ribbons.  Quickly!"