Alkor

Alkor stared blankly down at the man who tried to cut his throat only moments before, head tilted and expression blank. These events had become more prevalent since... when had it been? They had been trapped so long that his sense of time had become skewed. The pirate was leering up at him angrily, trying to free himself, slashing wildly at the air as the blonde haired youth kept a foot firmly planted on his chest. "I just wanted to relax," the Knight-Errant muttered to no one in particular. "Ye'll be able to relax soon enough!" The pirate huffed. "When yer dead!" The golden eye

Taft - Floor 11 Settlement, the Weathered Wayfarer Tavern Nestled in a far flung corner of the city stood the Weathered Wayfarer, a hovel so easy to miss that it often went forgotten by the many players who passed it by in their hurry toward the Frontlines. Alkor was one of its few frequent customers for that fact alone. The only real denizens were non-player characters who were programmed to know, and even then, their routine found them there at certain times of day. It was the perfect place to go when one wanted to be alone. He ordered his usual drink, a lighter pilsner hopped just righ

He was alone for some time after that, watching the horizon with a million new questions racing through his mind. The sun dipped behind graying clouds as it burned a deeper orange and cast his long shadow back toward civilization, where his thoughts drew him back unbidden. "Why would I even care about her name?" he asked as if expecting an answer. "She came up to me out of nowhere and talked down to me like I was some kind of potential jumper on top of a building." The more he threw his contempt at the thoughts as he collected them, the more that they burned. Or was it that they stung? Everyth

"Is that why you let them die?" he asked quietly, not breaking eye contact. "Yes," she answered, her smile much softer, and perhaps sadder than before. He could not tell. "Because their feelings matter. Because they are allowed to lose all hope, and to give up, if that is the answer that they found themselves. Life is like that. Not everyone comes to the same conclusion, but every conclusion is valid. Even if we don't agree with it." She was sad, Alkor realized. Every death she'd watched, this woman had likely wanted to stop. She wept for people who she barely knew, some who she only

Theme "Have you ever thought its because the things you say are twisted and difficult to respond to?" he huffed and looked away from her, back toward oblivion. "You tell me that I'm basically a dead man walking and expect me to have a good and easy answer ready for you. Who does that?" "For a normal person, the easy answer would be to deny it, not argue with it and get defensive," she mused. There was a certain delight in the way she smiled at him. "You're not like the others, though. Not like the ones who jumped, I mean. There's something that makes you hold on. There's a reason tha

Aincrad was a lonely place. Trapped as they were, the Players could interact with one another, but no touch shared between them could be considered "real." Not in anything but their minds. They could not hear the voices of their loved ones or feel the tears that were shed in their absence, and they could not know the fates of those who were beyond the immaterial barrier, just out of reach. For Alkor, the anxiety associated with the possible imminent loss of his grandmother drove him to the brink time and again. It was his unseen battle, something that went far beyond the conflict that he outwa

Put me in as casual, just like my flings. ;)

His armor subtly clicked as Alkor took a seat and listened to both men in turn. It was good that Morningstar recognized the shortcomings of energy for long term engagements so early. That economy only exacerbated with level, as strong Sword Arts still heavily taxed the limited pool of resources that Players had to call on. As a DPS, micromanagement like that was key for survival. The young man was well on the way. He nodded by way of agreement, and did not move to correct or call to question anything that the first youth had said. When his eyes moved to the other, he understood implicitly

He didn't know either of the young men, and it sounded like they weren't incredibly familiar with players outside of their sphere of influence. He gleaned that from how they introduced themselves. Alkor had considerable doubts that either of them would know much about the Frontlines, or the names of Players who frequented boss battles, or who were believed to have died in them. With some relief, he accepted the handshake offered by the boy named Remiel courteously. "Alkor," he told them both at once, "and you don't need to call me sir, I'm not so much older than you are." Alkor looked fro

The shadows of his hood obfuscated the top half of his face as he watched from across the room. He'd collected the same quest recently and decided to scour the town for other players who chanced on the same thing., but he hadn't expected it to happen quickly. While nursing the ale that sat on the table in front of him, he listened to the conversation just to be certain before he approached. Basic looking weapon, same for the armor... just by looking, Alkor gleaned that this player was a lower level, and the risks involved with the quest were fairly high if he tried to take it on by himself. Hi

Thread Complete! total word count: 13610 base exp: 2265 alkor | t7: 15885xp lessa | t8: 18120xp baldur | t10: 22650xp

How many times had he reached the same conclusion? How many times had it tasted just as bitter? The reality for Alkor was that he was a pyre, a bright burning furnace that fueled itself with singular passion- but the fire burned monochromatic. Where so many others put on a brilliant display across the entire rainbow, his own worth was grayscale. He could be hotter than all of them, but never as beautiful. And he couldn't even look away from the fire to care about the difference. That heat called to him, always drew him back, and ever burned him. The things Baldur said, Alkor kne

"Mmm..." There was wisdom, certainly, in the allegory of the student and Master. The growth Alkor had found over the span of several years in Aincrad could be measured in his self-awareness, if not the elegance of his movements. Truth be told, Alkor found function for more important than form, and that was why he adopted movements that responded to the situation, not to his understanding of technique. As Bruce Lee had once said, "be formless, shapeless, like water." But Alkor's flow was anything but gentle and flowing. It was turbulent, like the cascading falls that eroded rock and r

Every breath came and went in an instant. The same was true of openings, of opportunities, of a single moment in time that could change history. The average man thought nothing of the forces that perpetuated his life. The steps he took, the air he breathed, the water he drank- these things were natural, common, expected, even calculated. But what would happen without one of them? These were the questions not often asked, and more often than not, their answers were more important than the credit they were given. Strikes intended for his legs brought Alkor toward one of those inevitab

Another aspect of the swordsman came to life in that instant. A man was a lifetime of experiences, and his feelings and thoughts changed with age. Baldur shifted like the seasons, from a Spring shower to a Summer breeze. After the initial clash of their blades that left them reeling, it was obvious that a different approach was necessary. It was obvious that the hammer was the wrong tool. So, for lack of efficacy with his inner flame, something raw substantiated. His grit evolved into stubbornness, and the wind buffeted against rock. Instead of giving chase, Alkor entrenched himself and d

Always striving, never arriving. He'd heard that before from someone he knew. It was the same, difficult, at times frustrating mantra that drove him. Like the heart of a forge, Alkor burned through himself and hammered away the imperfections. One at a time, he chipped away a flaw that brought him ever closer to the complete being he wanted to be. He did not want to die, but with those words, he was reminded that there was only one final destination for them, as humans. It was that mortality that made their efforts precious. It was that fleeting spark that gave rise to the fire inside of him.

When Baldur confessed to being an introvert, Alkor had to chuckle silently. They shared that in common, and yet, Baldur found it within his abilities to host this type of event. He was even able to reach beyond the norms of his limited social capacity to function as the master of ceremonies. Alkor wondered whether if his own experiences had been different, if he had adjusted to life differently and learned those skills, he might have been capable of similar feats. It might drive another man to envy, but Alkor found only a certain respect for it. Rather than strive after what he did not have, h

The fighting had passed and people convened for the party that their host had graciously prepared. It was a rare time in Aincrad when someone went out of their way to accommodate others like this, so most of them were more than eager to indulge. How Baldur suspected Alkor might not be one of them was anyone's guess. Still, the man found him and quickly identified him by name. Like everyone else, Alkor had dispensed with his weapon upon entry to the tournament out of respect for the rules and safety of everyone; and so, when the man approached, his arms were crossed. Something told him it was n

He knew better. The moment that the pilot pressed the button, Alkor narrowed his eyes. He watched the Dreadnaught for any hint that they'd been acknowledged, any sign that they were clear to proceed. None came. "Do you know," he asked as he took a step backward and violently thrust his blade into the stomach of one of the two remaining midshipmen, "how many men it takes to fly a ship?" he asked the ship knowing full well he had no such knowledge. In fact, the answer itself was irrelevant. They were already on course. None of these pilots were necessary for what he intended. None of them

He remembered most of the past, as much as he did not want to. There was a fundamental disconnect between them, even from the beginning. He recalled how she looked to lean on him for direction, and how he had no idea what to tell her. She'd hung on every word, like the advice he gave was good as gold. Here she was today, a heavy armored bruiser who hefted a two handed sword around. He remembered suggesting that. Survival combined with damage- the best of both worlds, without being directly in the line of fire as a tank. Lessa had come far from that. She had made that advice into something

He lifted himself off the bridge and turned to look out over the water as she spoke. Lessa answered his question as honestly as she could, and she came up with a better answer than he had despite claiming to know just as little. With his arms folded and his expression set in stone, he let her continue. She said that she'd spent so much time chasing people, she talked about pretending to be something she wasn't or doing something her heart wasn't in just to make others happy. It occurred to him, she understood his pain. Where he chose to cleave from expectation, Lessa had slaved herself to it.

This marked as quiet as Lessa had ever been around him. She was always filled with questions, she always wanted to know more. She sought to understand things. The woman was filled with so much passion and warmth and she had gone looking for something she thought was hidden, only to find that it was never there to begin with. When Lessa apologized, Alkor had felt no need to accept or even acknowledge the apology- because for Alkor, there was nothing to apologize for. She, like so many others had acted in the same way. They expected- even at times demanded of him- something he did not have the p

He understood all too well what it meant. There was a time when he thought killing killers might make a difference. When he believed that his own lack of humanity made him perfect for the task- yet when faced with his own mortality, he couldn't reconcile the idea of dying. He had so many things left undone, so much potential for good, for evil, for everything in between. He had potential to live a life, unlike the empty husk that he was in the world outside of Aincrad. Limp, unenthused, and going through the motions, he had all but given up. Too afraid to life, too afraid to die... and t

There was no end to them. Alkor had neutralized or thrown over more than a score of peons and gained nearly no ground at all. He felt his energy stores waning and his body screaming at him. This was a team effort, and he rushed headlong into it alone- and the system was forcing him to pay for that. There was no turning back now- only forward, ever forward. His blade screamed out again as he parried a wild blade for the nth time, every motion fluid, lost in the last. His body spun, his arm reached out, and he lifted the offender over his shoulders in a quick motion. They did not seem to l

Fatigue sank into his body as they walked. He felt lightheaded, physically drained. The path they trudged led away from the group, and the heavy gazes that only made him even more uneasy. When the sunlight hit them and they were away from prying eyes, he finally felt some stability. What came next was unscripted- it had to be. He knew that because of how many times they had this conversation, or some iteration of it, where Lessa spoke with utmost certainty that she knew a better way. Her way. Alkor had admired her way- but it had never been his way. He was ready to hear it again, but it never