Foyle

Foyle arched a fuzzy white eyebrow, unsure of what to make of the statement. "Forgive me, captain, but I'm not familiar with the term. Is this something I should know or understand?" Worry soared that he'd just been hit with more techie/gamer jargon or slang which the majority of players throughout Aincrad used with frustrating regularity. "Is that a different name for the beast you've just slain? I know that many creatures in this world are called by different pseudonyms, but can't say I've heard that one before." Thankfully, the others seemed just as confused by the reference

Foyle moved to his captain's side, nodding his approval and thanks before hacking downward with his blade, ensuring that it had been 'bloodied' in battle, if only in some token way. Expectations would be satisfied. "You handled that with surprising ease and grace. Is it always defeated so quickly." Freyd's glance signaled that they had been fortunate in the speed of their encounter before drifting towards Quip, who sat giggling madly as she sprayed the vanishing bits of boss high into the air with glee. Pursed lips prevented any further complaints from airing. Their goal had been a

Taking the Whisper's devastation as an appropriate signal, Foyle descended into the bowl and moved to a supporting position, far enough back to be ready but not provoke any undue ire. Weapon held in a high guard, he knew he'd fare poorly if it came his way. Fortunately, the mob appeared dazed and struggled to right itself from Freyd's initial pummeling. "Ready captain. Standing by for your orders." A raised fist signaled for him to hold firm. A nod matched the creaking of his leather gloves as he tightened the grip on his weapon. Foyle's keen eyes mapped out the enemy's possibl

Receiving Wulfrin's message, Foyle unfolded himself from akimbo to scissor stand on the spot. If there was one benefit to this hellhole of a game, it was the complete absence of arthritis. Years had passed since he could even consider such movement in his true body. Dawning slowly, that realization had proven his true liberation. Trapped and lost in a digital world too far beyond his own familiar era, Foyle had joined Firm Anima as a scout. It gave him purpose and allowed him to search for the granddaughter he held out hope to still find in here someday. Accustomed to working, dutifully comp

"I understand," Foyle replied simply. He was a man of few words and strict action, guided by the principles of Bushido in a world tumbling ahead beyond his understanding or control. His chosen captain had provided instructions. They would be followed. That was enough for him, granting direction. A humble nod and bow mimicked his words. It wasn't a hard decision to make. Freyd had made it abundantly clear that this thing could kill them each in turn with naught but a stray sidewards glance. That was the whole point: to make them stronger and ready to take on such challenges, or at least

Night fell quickly, stretching shadows to their breaking point until the sun finally fell behind the houses across the street. Voices traveled in and out of earshot as life returned to some sense of normalcy in the heart of Glyndebourne. Hope equally glimmered at the possibility that they might use it to enact their escape, the nastier aspects of the city's plight having gone to ground. Sneaking their way back up to the main floor, some quick mental calculus and Morningstar's map had aided their efforts. Changing out of his current disguise, Foyle borrowed a few items left behind since Hen

"I've tried messaging the captain without success. That's not necessarily a bad thing. Errors or a system message would be more concerning. Knowing Freyd, he's either laying low or trying to lead them away from this play. Maybe both" The old warrior's eyes drifted back to the jar. "I need to get this to Firm Anima. Better minds than mine can sort out what it is and how to counter it. My role is merely to scout." Shadows passed over several high windows, the legs of passersby streaking like those of giants across the crowded cellar. It was fortunate that they glass itself

Snatching a jar from Henry's counter, he quickly opened it, sliding only far enough down the heavy oak counter to reach his counterpart, without falling off the edge. Foyle's grey eyes bid his companion place the severed segments inside with haste and whispered warning. "They haven't gone to shard, meaning they could still be a threat." Leaving Star to the task of securing the remains, Foyle took a high and surprisingly spry step, bounding halfway up the cellar steps to grasp the steel ring handle bolted to the underside of the same trap door they'd used to access this hidden spa

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 cautioned, 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

"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 dra

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 sin

"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 cou

"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 regul

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

Profile Username: Foyle Real name: Akira Miyamoto Age: 65 Country: Japan Gender: Male Height: 5'-10" Background: Though not completely oblivious to the nuances and practicalities of technology, his skills had certainly waned in the leadup to retirement. Two more years and he could finally pull the plug. His granddaughter told him it would be "fun". That was all Akira knew before she'd thrust a headset over his eyes, toggled various devices and inputs, then flipped the switch that would alter his fate in a manner he never could have expected. 3D movies were nothing