Oz

"Weren't you just here asking to trade because you had no gleaming scales?" "You misunderstand me, friend!" came Oz's boisterous reply, each syllable fed slowly through grinning teeth like gravel through a sieve. "I said I didn't have enough Gleaming Scales." Perhaps it should have concerned the viridescent info broker that his newly minted bestest-ever blacksmith friend could hardly keep his eyes open. Perhaps, in fact, it would have worried most anyone else. But Oz wasn't the sort to burden himself with the plight of the tired and feeble, of which he simply assumed Rencesvals was n

Oz digs the item out of the trash like the little goblin he is.

It was reasonable for most anyone to assume that Oz wouldn't return to the blacksmith for some indeterminate, oddball length of time. Such was the case in several similar happenstances across Aincrad. Visits to shops were infrequent and frenetic, and often for good reason. Once an Aincradian was sufficiently outfitted, they required little in the way of further purchases. Appraisers used to be the exception, until that bizarre update snatched the reigns away from them and placed it in Cardinal's clutches. Must have been that too many had discovered some sort of exploit. At any rate, Oz wa

Oz applies an Essence of Titanium (acquired here) to upgrade Soul Siphon (+2) (acquired here) from Rare quality to Perfect quality. ID: 212642a (T1/Weapon/Rare) 226241 Accuracy 226239 Vampiric (Offensive) Equipment Type: Throwing Knives Name: Soul Siphon (+2) Description: "Indeed, one may believe they know their loved ones. Their essence. You don't really know someone until you've held their soul in the palm of your hand." to ID: 212642a (T1/Weapon/Rare) 226241 Accuracy 226239 Vampiric (Offensive) EoT Accuracy Equipment Type: Throwing Knives Name: S

Begin evaluation thread.

Oz trails not far behind and greedily snatches up the object.

Oz froze, nose twitching as though he'd just caught a whiff of heaven's bakery. He peered into the woman's eyes, unflinching, unfettered, even as she sifted through the (admittedly impressive) arrangement of identifications. Finally, as she concluded the appraisals, Oz felt it safe to distract her with something unrelated to her chest size or the picking apart of his looted wares. "Tobacco? Real tobacco? Where in the hell did you find it? I've been stuck with these fetid tea leaves for as long as I can remember. I didn't think tobacco existed in Aincrad." He leaned forward, the now-identi

Although the lad may have been no veteran, his hammer couldn't tell, and neither could any bystander admiring his craft. He made short work of the fusions - first combining two, then combining the third into the first fusion. It was over in a matter of minutes, an impressive feat considering the unexpected complexity of the arrangement. When all was said and done, he had a perfect batch of knives which gleamed vibrantly against the shop's signature warm hues. "Impressive," Oz admitted with a pleased tone, picking up one of the blades and turning it over to inspect both sides. He gingerly

As with everything on the twenty-first floor, the interior of the showroom was gorgeous - but in a different way. How had the shopkeep managed to achieve such warm light in a place so cool and dreary as this? While the cavernous corridors beyond the emporium stretched on in a monotonous ultramarine glow, Oz could practically feel the simulated sunlight which shone through the establishment's windows. "Cool digs, I must admit," remarked Oz as he approached the counter, his sudden vocalization possibly catching the busy blacksmith off guard. "I've heard that you're the sort of person who ca

To Oz's surprise, it seemed the violet-haired fellow didn't desire any payment. First time, on the house. Now this was the sort of naivety Oz could get behind. "If you insist," he replied. "I won't argue. But I'll save my guarantees to advertise for you until after I've seen what you're capable of, it that's alright." It seemed Oz's reservations were unfounded. Before his very eyes, he watched the goofy appraiser turn his junk into more Uniques he'd ever seen in one place. A mere novelty, he was sure, for the higher-leveled players that skulked around the upper floors. But for someone lik

"Hubba hubba," Oz remarked, practically drooling as he ogled the large-chested maiden which (he assumed) owned the shop. He knew it was rude, but he also suspected it wasn't a reaction she was all too unfamiliar with. As though carried by a pack of cherubs, he practically floated into the abode. Had they been in a cartoon, rest assured there would have been hearts where his eyes should have been. "Hey, baby," he said with as much coolness as he could muster (which wasn't much), "I'm sure you get this a lot, but uh... Nice shoes." He did not actually say shoes. "But I'm here on b

Oz hated he tenth floor. Not only was it dim and dreary, but the mobs here were much too powerful for someone such as himself to contend with. He was forced to sneak around like a goon, avoiding anything and anyone in the hopes that he could make it from point A to point B unperturbed. But for someone like Oz, whose luck was chronically unfavorable, this was rarely the case. Today was one such day. While trying to escape some of the floor's nasties, he happened upon a door and flung himself inside. It seemed that the mobs had missed his, and he was able to hear them scuttling past as thou

Seeing as he hadn't really kept track during the battle, and how his legs felt like jelly, he figured now might be a decent time to take a gander at his spoils. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw everything that had accumulated in his inventory. Countless armors, weapons, consumables, trinkets. And moreover, he'd managed to take home a few real treasures in the form of Demonic Shards and and additional Gleaming Scale, over the one he'd plucked from the fish he caught earlier. Wow. That almost made it feel worth it. But not really. As the blues and violets began to ove

He collapsed backward, rump meeting with the soft earth in a jarring thud as his body nearly gave out on him. Sure, he'd thought the adrenaline had waned, but perhaps a more accurate way of putting it was that he'd simply gotten used to what it felt like by that point. Now that the hormone really had stopped, he felt like he could barely move. Was that normal? For ones pixelated avatar to feel like it couldn't possibly move another muscle? Perhaps the connection between mind and body was more firm than he'd previously believed. His grey hues peered out over the horizon, now painted a bril

"So, come on. Come at me. Your ambush failed. Oz lives. And I hope each and every one of you putrid fucks, if you're even capable of it, felt some sort of shame with every death. I hope you all realized how stupid you were in the end, to charge headlong into the same death felt by dozens of your brothers. And I hope you, mister forty-one, feel the most foolish as you take that last breath and find it doesn't even make it to your lungs before they're crystalized into pixelated vapor. I hope, from the bottom of my soul, that you feel like a total IDIOT for having ever staged such a ridiculous as

And then, as Boar 50 fell, there was one. Boar 41, which had seemed to have held on long past its expiration date. Oz stared the creature down with utter contempt in his heart. "You know, I may have felt a little bad for you assholes, if you hadn't ambushed me FIFTY STRONG." He knew the thing couldn't understand what he was saying, but this wasn't really for the boar. This was for him. He needed some sort of way to express just how fucked up this entire situation had been. "I mean, really. Fifty? FIFTY? WHAT SORT OF LEVEL ONE CAN HANDLE FIFTY BOARS?" There was a hint of irony in the

Then there were three. And then, two. It was possible that Oz could escape by now, but why would he? He was still in the yellow, and with only two mobs left, it almost seemed like a waste to give up now. May as well clear them to get whatever col, mats, or loot he could from them. He no longer felt afraid. At this point, boredom may have been a more apt description for what he was feeling. That, and exhaustion. The adrenaline had long wore off. He considered himself 'safe' now, so long as things didn't degrade into another ambush or a series of unfortunate critical hits, which he had fina

It was finally down to the last four. They surrounded him, eyeing their prey precariously, none seeming to be willing to take a step closer to their foe. It pissed Oz off, that they could ambush him in a massive pack like that, and then start to back off once they realized their little war of attrition wasn't going to pay off. It almost seemed as though none of them wanted to continue, but their programming compelled them to continue the attack. He was sure that any self respecting boar in real life would flee if they saw a man with the corpses of forty-six of their buddies laying at his feet.

There he was, back in the yellow again. And, strangely, there were more boars remaining than he'd expected. Had he done the math wrong, or were they simply getting luckier with hitting him without thorns activating? Was the immolation potion he'd taken on his way down to the lake starting to wear off? How long ago had that been? He couldn't remember, as everything up to this point seemed like a blur. The adrenaline clouded his thoughts and made it nearly impossible to focus on anything other than what was happening in the moment. Probably some sort of evolutionary trait which compelled him to

"Come on, dickheads!" he taunted. "What's the matter!? Not as palatable when there's not fifty of you goddamn things to chunk me down? Have some balls! Come get some! I'm right here." Not that the goading would work on these AIs anyway, unless somehow provoked through a skill or some other mechanism of earning their ire. Not like he hadn't already managed to do so, anyhow. There was still a nagging feeling that something about this encounter just hadn't been right. Was Cardinal finally glitching out, after all this time? Who was on the outside making sure the damn thing wasn't falling int

This was it. He was coming up on the last of them. The dozens that had previously surrounded him were now reduced to only seven. It had gradually become easier and easier to pick them out, and now he could make out each and every last remaining boar individually. It had been a long road. A terrifying road. One Oz hadn't deserved. But he had persevered, for better or worse, and now found himself at the tail end of his death sentence. Seven boars left, and 15 HP with which to dispatch them. He was so happy he could have cried right then and there. Perhaps he would, just so as to make himself app

Thinking back to the previous topic, Oz couldn't help but fantasize about Kayaba behind bars at this moment. Waiting for the day they sent him to the gallows and executed him for his crimes. Would he get lethal injection, or would they go more medieval on his ass? He'd have loved to see that asshole strung up by a tree. Or, perhaps, go straight back to the guillotine. Roll his head across the floor as a warning for anyone else who would dare to fuck with people like this again. Did they even have the death penalty in Japan? It didn't matter. That guy wasn't making it out alive. The o

Wow, that hadn't taken long at all. By the time his eyes flickered back up to his health bar, he saw that he was indeed at only one remaining HP again. The incessant breedle of his HUD signaled sure death, but he wouldn't accept that. His finger once against smashed through the panel and brough his life-saving elixir to life, which this time his slender digits were (thankfully) able to ungraciously clasp and force open in the blink of an eye. He down the concoction and eyed the remaining boars, trying to count the remainder in his mind as the health bar ticked back up to full. If he was c

BAM. Just like that, he'd found himself in the red once more. He had to stop throwing himself into the mobs and adjust himself back to staring at his HUD, taking a small moment to summon his battle-ready inventory and lay eyes on the final potion which separated him from certain death. From the looks of the thinning horde, it appeared that his math had been correct before. If he was efficient, he'd be able to squeeze out just enough HP to send all of these asshole swine to their maker. He hoped that somewhere, Kayaba had to explain to each and every one of these cretins why he'd sent thei

It wasn't perfect, by any means. Throwing ones fragile body into a sea of boars and hoping a few would pop. But, in a weird twist of fate, it seemed to actually be working. His health was ticking down much faster than before, having reached the yellow this time much earlier than in previous instances, but that was almost a good thing. He was uncomfortable with the concept of his ever impending mortality in the predicament within which he found himself, but his HP draining faster also meant that he was thinning the her faster, too. He'd found his groove. Clumsily throwing himself at boars