Oz

"You did such a great job!" Bringing the container up to eyelevel, Evangeline studies it more closely. "Actually, I've never seen anything exactly like it. Mind leaving me the recipe before you go?" More canned responses. Oz felt his eyes rolling into the back of his head. How mind-numbing the conversations with these hooligan NPCs were. "Absolutely the fuck not, Evangeline," he clapped back, spinning in his chair to regard her directly. He knew that she was just a program, and couldn't actually understand genuine interaction, but his social programming compelled him to be firm and direct

Eureka. By the third attempt, something clicked. Not with Oz, of course, but with the system. Seemed that all one had to do to make a potion was try over and over again until, miraculously, one occurred all on its own. Except, upon closer inspection, it seemed that this was not, indeed, a potion. It was something thicker, with much denser viscosity. A paste? A lotion? "A salve," the NPC piped up, humming in observation. "Nice work. Seems you may have what it takes to be an Alchemist after all." "Yeah, no thanks to you." Seemed Oz could no longer keep a lid on his chagrin. "I sat here

Nope. On his second attempt, the result was identical to the first. Toss in Material, combustion, then watch the violet plume do its thing. And it smelled rank. Worse than the shop's typical odor. The NPC, of course, was once again no help. In fact, he could swear that he had heard her stifling a laugh. The bitch. His next attempt had to be better. He had to make some sort of progress, lest he be trapped in an endless loop of failure in perpetuity. It wasn't like he needed to become a crafter - he'd made it this long with no craft to speak of. Dealing in information was more lucrative any

As he reentered the shop, the NPC seemed to have its canned responses ready. He barely paid her any mind. He knew how this went. She presented the bench, he fumbled around trying to make his first craft, and everyone left frustrated. So the tales went. It seemed that Oz wasn't special in this regard. The first concoction he attempted to brew was a spectacular disaster, combusting into a plume of violet smoke the moment he tossed his ingredient into it. He'd learned nothing, and the NPC was no help, either. Just as with the fisherman, it appeared that Oz would be on his own learning how to

Bingo. When throwing one knife at a time, things became a lot more simple. The dagger whistled through the air until it made contact with the plant with a thud, draining its remaining health to zero and prompting it to disintegrate into a cloud of fractal shards. With his work complete, he tiptoed around any remaining Rotfiends in the patch so as to avoid triggering another combat step, and started making his way back toward the Town of Beginnings. Sometimes, he could see the appeal. If one gamed the system well enough, they could make combat a breeze, and endlessly enjoy the fruits of th

It wasn't for lack of trying, mind you. He had understood when he chose throwing knives as his weapon of choice that it wasn't going to be the easiest weapon to get a handle on. But he figured it would be worth it if it meant that he could distance himself from the danger. Time would only tell if that was the right choice, or if he'd only chosen to make things harder on himself. That being said, he had no intention of being in the thick of it very often. Sure, he'd slay some boars (when they encircled him by the literal DOZENS), or the occasional immobile plant, but those were easy. Bosse

No big deal. He had all the time in the world, and he was nowhere near danger this time. If he started to feel threatened by the plants, he could simply walk away - not like that was even likely, given the vast disparity between their ability to deal damage and Oz's ability to soak it. Another round of attacks, and now two more had fallen. All at once, Oz found himself in the possession of the Mats he'd gone there to find. Splendid. Now all that was left was to clear the remaining chaff so he could disengage from combat and return to the sexy Alchemist. If only he could hit with more of h

As he tossed his throwing knives a second time, he got a much less desirable result. This time, only one plant was struck, and succumbed quickly to its accumulation of injuries. The curious thing about this game, was that even if an enemy didn't make contact, it would still trigger the Thorns Enhancement. All that needed to occur was for that attack to hit, and for that hit to not be critical. Not typically the sort for combat, Oz was pleased with what he'd learned thus far. Gaming the system was always a surefire way to stumble into some rare loot. The one that died was not due to a comb

Luckily, this time Oz had come prepared for what lay ahead. A somewhat cowardly sort, he wanted to avoid running into the same ordeal as he had the time before, wherein an ungodly quantity of boars descended upon him with all the begrudging tenacity of a bitter enemy on crack. No - not only had he come prepared with better gear, a higher level, and more consumables than the previous instance, now he had something important. Knowledge. There was a patch of enemies not far from the Town of Beginnings. He wouldn't need to travel far, not out to boar country anyways. Here, the enemies re

With the Fishing Skill out of the way, it was time for the next venture. Oz had desired to set up a shop of his own for quite some time now - somewhere he could relax as well as conduct business. It'd be easy enough to attract folks, so long as he stylized his potions like booze. Far too many Aincradians who were jonesing for their fix in a world that was as dry as the Mojave Desert. He couldn't give them a buzz, but he could at least provide a taste. One he wouldn't mind partaking in himself, at that. As he entered the alchemist's shop, light flooded the hovel and a glare against on

Hidden amid the remnants of ancient structures which dot the Forbidden Lands of Floor Nineteen sits a particularly unkempt heap of scrap and timber which compose an unlikely hovel. Supposedly once a magnificent, mobile manor which skulked the expanse with is imposing mechanical appendages, its gears now remain fixed and its core dormant. When Oz overtook the home, he hadn't a clue as to how one could maintain it. The mechanics and their inner workings evading his understanding, and the sheer volume of space seemed overwhelming to keep in order. And so the structure stopped moving, then started

Oz accepts the trinket graciously. "Much thanks, short one."

"Very much appreciated, Ren," Oz mumbled as he looked the finished product over. A fiery aura imbued into the equipment strangely didn't burn him as he held it - a trait he hoped wouldn't extend to his enemies. "Temporary arrangement," he admitted, "This gear would only serve me for the next level or two. Just enough time to get my hands on more materials, I'd think." He gave the shield a good swing, its sharp edges whistling as they sliced through the air. "I'm frail, you know. In my old age. Best to bring protection." He stowed the new artifact in his inventory and offered the young bla

Buying the following item: T1 Immolation Potion [300 col] Total: 300 col

Here he was again - this time to exhaust the final Gleaming Scale that he had in his possession. It was a worthwhile pursuit, in that it would likely permit him to acquire more of the precious materials he'd been burning through lately. Indeed, it turned out it hadn't been a lie when he originally told Ren he didn't have enough Gleaming Scales. "Back again," he announced with a beaming visage as he strode into the warmly lit forge once more. "Might be the last time you see me for a bit. This is the last Gleaming Scale I've got. Need these two shields fused into something neat, and I happ

Twang. The unflattering sound of a cello string being plucked as Oz meanders through the shop. Quite the impressive outfit, for something that sprang up out of nowhere. Once Oz had caught wind of a new Performer on the twenty-fourth floor, he thought it prudent to take a look. But it turned out there wasn't much here yet - at least not in the way of merchandise. Still, the general atmosphere and wide array of eclectic instruments made for quite the site. There was, however, at least one item that had caught his eye. He was almost surprised it sat there, available amid the rest of the

Wasn't every day one stumbled across a straight up food cart. Not in Aincrad, anyway. The novelty wasn't lost on Oz, but what really attracted him was the blasé demeanor of the mobile shop's peddler. He didn't seem to care - about anything, really. And that was an attitude Oz could get behind. "Bit of a list, but you seem to have the stock on-hand," Oz remarked as he handed the lad a form with the requested items. It was a bit of a smattering of everything, and none of it seemed particularly appealing, but Oz didn't care much about the taste anyway. So long as they performed as advertised

You could call him a sucker, but there was something about this place that was drawing Oz back. Perhaps it was the ambiance, perhaps it was the medley of scents that pervaded the abode. At any rate, when there came a further need for an alchemist in Oz's life, this place was the first he thought of. Was that the genius of the shopkeep, who'd perfectly tailored her cafe to encourage people to come back, time and time again? Or was that simply her style, and he found it so alluring that he couldn't help but make a return visit. Perhaps, there was even a chance that the soothing atmosphere w

Being an info broker came with its perks. For instance, one with a proper lay of the land might be able to find things that are ordinarily difficult to find, such as a shield of the rare quality which sports two slots of Thorns. You might not think one difficult to find and, surely, they were not particularly difficult to craft for the right blacksmith. But Oz was in a bit of a rush, and simply didn't have the time or patience to wait for something to be made from scratch. The Skyforge was seemingly a long-defunct hole in the wall on the ninth floor. The smith that ran the forge hadn't be

Staying true to his typical goblin self, Oz had been trailing Bahr for quite some time. Who just leaves valuable, wacky shit lying around everywhere? This guy, that's who. Today he dropped something called a 'Ghost Treat.' Oz wasn't sure what use he could find for such a devilish delight, but he scooped it up and stowed it away in his inventory anyway.

That one. That one looks good. "Oh thank god," came a gravel-y voice, cutting through the tension with all the grace of a brain-damaged gazelle stumbling unflatteringly before an assortment zig-zagging headlights which spelled its certain doom. But this gazelle, however stupid it may have been, had luck on its side. Or so Oz hoped. "We thought we'd never see a strapping young man such as yourself stroll through here with eyes for the monster. Ain't that right, boys?" Morningstar would find a spindly arm suddenly draped across his shoulders, and the prompt intrusion of a verdant-clad

"Much obliged, Sunshine. See, was that so hard?" Watching one of the big bad Frontliners squirm brought much delight to Oz, who took a moment to revel in the contortions of Bahr's visage. Though Oz rarely spared any sympathy for the other fools trapped in this floating prison, this was especially true for Bahr. As he saw it, if this guy had been paying a bit more attention to Conciliatior - his long-time info broker - she would still be around right now. Instead, she was missing. As the two men stared each other down, the bell chimed, signifying a newcomer to the tense abode. A waywa

My, how far the shops of the first floor had come. Oz took in a deep breath upon entering, the intermingling scents of dark oak and coffee filling his lungs. It was a refreshing shift from the usual tea leaf smoke he sullied his innards with. Whoever owned the shop, they'd done a spectacular job of setting a pleasing ambiance. Where there weren't natural wood tones, there was flora. Where there wasn't that, there were rows of books - the pages of which, upon recognition, joined the medley of other fragrances into a soothing crescendo. Oz wasn't the sort to slow down and take it all i

It was a quaint little place, organized such that Oz may have mistaken it for Hogwarts had he not known any better. Everything seemed to have its place, with books lining the walls, a cauldron bubbling atop a desk, and all manner of witchcraft strewn about everywhere. Once upon a time, Oz would have found such a display endearing. As he got on in age, however, he found that such novelties had lost their zeal. Luckily, exactly what he was looking for could be found in the general stock. "I'll take fifteen of these," he stated flatly as a panel was summoned and the corresponding cost in mat

Almost done. All that remained was to combine two more ingredients. There were other things, too, of course, which Oz could use to supplement his equipment. But he was beginning to run low on the materials to do so, and this seemed like the best bet if he was going for longevity. There were several others in Aincrad with builds far more powerful than he, but he wasn't going for power. He was going for survival. "Bahr, my man!~" The voice clattered over the sound of bell which chimed as the door swung open. There stood Oz, in all his rugged (read: disheveled) glory. He sauntered up to