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[PP-26-PT-Assisted] Unsanctioned, Unbidden, Unwanted...

Freyd

By Freyd,
in Intermediate Floors

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Freyd

Freyd 0

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The Galtean Refugee Zone hadn't changed much since the abrupt end of Emperor Razwell's iron fisted reign, and what little movement had occurred was largely for the worst.  Local residents had long been left to the mercy of gangs and other ruthlessly self-serving bodies, many verging beyond the predatory to the depraved.  Desperation had that effect on people, and its soured scent attracted those most likely to feast upon misery.  Agents had been watching a particular ramshackle building at the western edges of the zone for weeks.  To call it a structure was a severe disservice to the least of plausible buildings.  It was little more than stacked crates, castoff beams and cladding 'borrowed' from other edifices and then lashed by rope to the amalgam in order to block the view.  That did little to stop the screams from within.

The guards did nothing, and never had.  They were either too scared or paid to look the other way.  As imperial coffers ran dry, so did any semblance of will to interfere.  And so things were left much as they had been for the Galteans, still searching for some sort of reprieve.  Aincrad was replete with these types of circumstances, and Freyd did what he could to close them down when he found them.  Some would stay shuttered, where others respawned like some malicious cancer, as if the world wasn't already suffused with enough cruel, twisted jokes.  Whichever this one turned out to be mattered little.  Several local children had gone missing.  A few were spotted dragged here, bound and beaten, their tears mixing with fouler offal in the streets.  Conscience demanded immediate action.

Standing alone in the darkened alley leading to the barely concealed hideout, the player stared towards his destination still mulling how best to approach it.  Gone were his days of stealth and espionage.  This new armor offered protection but would announce his presence to the soundest sleeper from a hundred yards away.

"Heh.  Guess I could take a lesson from Mac, and just bust the front door down.  Not exactly my usual style, but it looks like that might all need to change."

***

@Omen @Bahr @Circe

Note: CS (Shades of the Gemini) and CSA (Beckon the Void) are in use.  If any other player objects to these, please state in first post and it will be considered inactive.

Freyd is assisting Omen [level reduced to 23; true tier 17]: +5% to final EXP

Freyd consumes and shares:

Gugnir’s Shard (Untradeable/Unique/Reusable Consumable): Crème Brûlée Tray | ACC 2 | Feast (6/6) - takes 1 portion [filled] and shares the rest
Combine into lesser Feast: Mini Cheesecake (Meal) | T3 Mitigation 3 | 177668+177670 | Feast (4/4) - takes 1 portion and shares the rest
[Draft of Keen Edge] - T1 Perfect Potion | Damage 3 | 214684
Madlad Meatloaf | Tierless Rare Meal | EVA 2 | 230509a
Shrimp Gumbo | Tierless Perfect Meal | Overhealth 3 | 220091d
Mousse (Snack) | Prosperity 3 | 196147-4
Sweet and Sour Licorice Bites | Tierless Perfect Snack | LD III | 223577a

Floor 26 Dungeon Map | 197332 (Scaled to T3)

Freyd | HP: 580/580 | EN: 79/79 | DMG: 21 | MIT: 179 | ACC: 8 (inc. AA)  | TAUNT | F-SPIRIT | EVA:4 | BH:31 | VAMP-D: 31 | VAMP-O: 62 | PARA-V | LD:8 | PROSP:3

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Circe

Circe 0

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Circe stood next to Omen as they approached the Galtean Refugee Zone, her sharp gaze taking in the grim surroundings. The stench of desperation and decay hung heavy in the air, mingling with the foul odor of hopelessness. This place wasn’t much better than the slums back in the real world—it didn't make her homesick for it.

"This place..." she muttered under her breath, glancing sideways at Omen. "It reminds me of some places back home. The way people look at you, like you’re either a threat or nothing at all." Her voice carried a bitter edge.  She knew the sickening familiarity of places like this well—the forgotten corners where the poor and broken were herded like cattle, left to rot under the indifferent gaze of those in power.

As they moved closer to a ramshackle building, a scream echoed from within. Circe’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of the throwing knife at her belt, her lips pressing into a thin line. "If we don't find something to do here soon, we should try the next area."
 ***
Received and Consuming:
Gugnir’s Shard (Untradeable/Unique/Reusable Consumable): Crème Brûlée Tray | ACC 2 | Feast (5/6) - takes 1 portion
Combine into lesser Feast: Mini Cheesecake (Meal) | T3 Mitigation 3 | 177668+177670 | Feast (3/4) - takes 1 portion

Stats:
Circe | HP: 480/480 | EN: 81/81 | DMG: 17 | ACC:6 | EVA:2 | MIT:16 |BLD: 24 | PARA | LD:1
Circe | HP: 480/480 | EN: 81/81 | DMG: 17 | ACC:4 | EVA:2 | MIT:1 |BLD: 24 | PARA | LD:1

Stats (unbuffed)

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skills

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extra skills 3/3

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Omen

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Omen knew areas like this well. Or at least, areas drenched in similar levels of poverty and desperation. He had grown up in a place not much unlike it. Omen had left it at the very first opportunity. Some people couldn't. And for the fictional residents of the 26th Floor, Omen doubted it would be as easy as packing up and leaving.

Circe seemed to be just as on edge as he was. "Yes," he agreed. "Let's not waste time." 

Their search for quests and challenges had taken them here, but Omen couldn't help but think that anything this high up in floors would be hitting well beyond their paygrade. Still, he had to know. He had been surprised before at the amount of easy quests strangely located beyond the beginner floors, and Omen wouldn't be satisfied until he knew for sure what was going on up here. 

They walked down the street as they had, slowly and carefully. As they passed a darkened alley, Omen paused. He looked down it.

"Freyd."

*** 

Consuming: 

1 portion of ACC feast: +2 ACC
1 portion of T3 MIT feast: +45 MIT 

Updated Statblock: 

Omen | HP: 505/505 | EN: 64/64 | DMG: 15 | MIT:179 | ACC:2 | TAUNT | F-SPIRIT | THORNS:54 | REC: 3 | HM: 6 

Character Sheet: 

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Bahr

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While others may have found themselves uncomfortable within such a setting, Bahr was right at home. To the contrary, he found that the more ostentatious venues were the ones that filled him with unease. Here, the depravity and hopelessness made the danger easy to pick out, and he could make out where trouble might come from before it was in his face. There was no effort made by the denizens of this wretched squalid locale to hide who they were. Bahr had found that, when surrounded by the folks who tried their hardest to look their best at all times, he could never truly tell which had their blades pointed his way. They bore teeth all the same, but concealed them behind a veil of faux puritanism and empty platitudes.

There was no such deception here.

"Freyd," he'd hear someone enunciate, more a low rumble than spoken word. But the moniker was recognized all the same, drawing recognition and the attention of Bahr's Christmas orbs. That was a name he hadn't heard in quite some time. A curious pair, one dainty and the other burly, stared into the thick blackness that coated a nearby alleyway. He surmised the larger of the two had been the one to invoke Freyd's name.

It would be like Freyd to skulk a medium as such. Though, Bahr was hardly one to talk, seeing as his own stealth made him imperceptible. Like layers uncoiling around him, reality itself seemed to part and make room for his sudden appearance, far enough away from the gaggle of mismatched Players so as not to spook them. Though, it may not have mattered, with their backs turned to him like this. He approached, footsteps silent, the silhouette of their shared interest finally taking form amidst the shadows.

"You gonna keep hanging out in that alley?" Bahr asked over the shoulders of the other two, taking care to have at least one heel ready to pivot in case one or the other were shocked enough by his sudden intrusion to start swinging. He'd crane his head to the side, toward the direction of the screaming, and gesture with a nod. "Assuming you're here to deal with that."

Bahr is assisting Omen [Level reduced to 23 | True Tier 9]: +5% to final EXP

Bahr consumes:
1 portion of ACC II feast (+2 ACC)
1 portion of T3 MIT III feast (+45 MIT)
Poutine - Tierless Over-Health III Meal [ID: 204803] (+73 HP)
Liquor of Light - Tierless DMG III Potion [ID: 184479-B] (+3 DMG)
Berry Crumb Bar - Tierless LD III Dessert [ID: 192706-A] (+3 LD)
Brainworm Draught - T3 Toxic Venom [ID: 229197-1]
Smores - Tierless EVA II Dessert [ID: Unknown, acquired here.] (+2 EVA)
Mousse - Tierless Prosperity III Dessert [ID: Unknown, acquired here.] (+3 Prosperity)
Breakfast Fry - Tierless Protein II Meal [ID: 194883-A] FILLED (+3 DMG | -45 MIT)

Adjusted stats:
Bahr | HP: 563/563 | EN: 79/79 | DMG: 24 | MIT: 91 | ACC: 6 | EVA: 4 | LD: 5 | FLN: 6 | BLD: 36 | BRN: 42 | BLT: 24 | T.VEN: 24 | BH: 28 | HB: 11 | REC I | PROSP III

The stat sheet housed in this spoiler is an abomination and must be stopped.

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Freyd

Freyd 0

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A half twist at the unfamiliar voice, his blade would have been full out if there'd been more threat in the words, and less unexpected curiosity.

"What the hell are you three doing here?  Not the crowd I would have expect-"

Wailing anguish of a kind brought about by the direst of tragedies split the dimming evening light.  Shades of pinks and purples piled on long shadows that grew darker at the terror behind it, along with several disconcerting and sickening cackles.  It was enough to pull the black blade to fruition. 

"Yeah," he resumed, replying to Bahr's nod.  "I'm definitely here for that, and to put an end to whatever might be causing it.  If the rest of you aren't late for a dinner date, I won't say no to any offer to help."  

Without waiting for an answer, time too fleeting for pleasantries, Freyd rushed down the narrow muck-and-cobblestone lane, ramming his shoulder into the nearest ramshackle wall with enough force to return it to the rubble state that had given it birth.  Burly surprise met angry steel as he cleaved his way into the nearest rank of ruffians recognizing the markings strewn across their piecemeal armors mixed with the faded tabards of fallen Galtean commandos.  They were known to commit the worst atrocities in their bid for power and control, and said to be the guiding hand behind the empires slave trade.  Traitors and turncoats, playing both sides for profit and debauchery.  

"Black Peregrins.  I might have known." Freyd spat out the words, slicing his way through the first pair before they could draw blades and pressing the remaining four to defend themselves.  The state of the young girl bent over in the corner melted away any misgivings he might have held, forfeiting their lives.  He'd seen and done his fair share of foul deeds, but the sight of this kind of depravity to a child.  No.  These men were dead already.  They just needed to be reminded.

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Omen

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Freyd seemed disgusted by the NPC's actions towards the young girl. Omen felt that way also. The rational part of him knew that they were nothing more than code given flesh; but the paternal side of him could not stand idly by while a child was abused. Freyd cut through a few of them. Omen followed suit, charging like a wild bull into the remaining group of four. His axe cleaved through half of them, but the other two were not within his range. Omen grunted. He was not dealing the damage he would like to him, but that was to be expected. 

"I am sorry," Omen said, to Freyd and the other stranger, "I am a tank. But it seems that you are still more prepared for the role than I, Freyd." 

Omen leveled his shield and his axe regardless, standing as a bulwark between the two groups. 

"I will not be of much use in this fight." 

*** 

Action Taken: [AOE-I] [-15 EN]
NDW 1: #233577 BD: 7+2-1 (Hit) - 15*7= 105-45= 60 DMG 
NDW 2: #233578 BD: 1 (Crit Miss) 
NDW 3: #233579 BD: 8+2-1 (Hit) - 15*7= 105-45= 60 DMG 
NDW 4: #233580 BD: 1 (Crit Miss) 

(H: 2,1,2,1) Omen | HP: 505/505 | EN: 49/64 | DMG: 15 | MIT:179 | ACC:2 | TAUNT | F-SPIRIT | THORNS:54 | REC: 3 | HM: 6 
(H: 0,0,0,0) Circe | ??? 
(H: 0,0,0,0) Bahr | ??? 
(H: 0,0,0,0) Freyd | ??? 

Ne'er Do Well 1 | 240/300 HP | 135 DMG | 45 MIT | ACC 1 | EVA 1 
Ne'er Do Well 2 | 300/300 HP | 135 DMG | 45 MIT | ACC 1 | EVA 1 
Ne'er Do Well 3 | 240/300 HP | 135 DMG | 45 MIT | ACC 1 | EVA 1 
Ne'er Do Well 4 | 300/300 HP | 135 DMG | 45 MIT | ACC 1 | EVA 1 

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Circe

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Freyd stepped forward. Circe's lips twisted into a half-smirk as she addressed him, crossing her arms, "Freyd. Thought you'd have called to collect on that IOU by now," she said, her tone light but with a teasing edge.  Her eyes scanned to the side noting Morningstar wasn't by his side this time, "No entertainment for tonight, then?"  

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice behind her, she whirled around, knife already in hand, ready to strike.   Her heart raced as she locked onto the figure standing just a few feet away. Her grip tightened on the blade, poised to throw, until her eyes finally registered him — a stranger, sure, but not an immediate threat.

He seemed too casual for someone trying to ambush them. Still, Circe wasn’t one to relax so quickly. Her shoulders remained tense as she sized him up.

She exhaled sharply, lowering her arm but not quite sheathing the knife. "You’ve got a death wish or something?" she snapped, eyes narrowed. "Sneaking up on people like that- !"

Circe watched as Freyd bulldozed through the crumbling wall, swinging his blade with lethal precision. The screams of the thugs barely reached her ears, their faces a mix of shock and terror as Freyd carved through them.

Her eyes fell on the young girl in the corner, cowering from the violence unfolding in front of her. She was an NPC, just code, data scripted to react to danger. Circe knew this, but there was still something unsettling about it all.

Omen, charging into the fray alongside Freyd, cut down a few more of the remaining thugs. His axe cleaved into their ranks, though Circe could tell he wasn’t doing the damage he wanted. His voice cut through the chaos, frustration in his tone.

She closed in after Omen, her movements swift, efficient.  With a flick of her wrists, an arc of throwing knives rained down on the thugs.  

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

Each knife found its mark, bringing each of their HPs down extremely low.  This wasn't going to last long at all.

****
Action Taken: Shift [AOE-I] (-17 EN)
NDW 1: #233607 BD:  3+6-1=8 (HIT)   DMG: 15*17-45= 210
NDW 2: #233608 BD: 5+6-1=10 (HIT)  DMG: 15*17-45= 210
NDW 3: #233609 BD: 7+6-1=12 (HIT)  DMG: 15*17-45= 210
NDW 4: #233610 BD:  3+6-1=8 (HIT)   DMG: 15*17-45= 210

(H: 2,1,2,1) Omen | HP: 505/505 | EN: 49/64 | DMG: 15 | MIT:179 | ACC:2 | TAUNT | F-SPIRIT | THORNS:54 | REC: 3 | HM: 6 
(H: 1,1,1,1) Circe | Circe | HP: 480/480 | EN: 64/81 | DMG: 17 | ACC:6 | EVA:2 | MIT:16 |BLD: 24 | PARA | LD:1
(H: 0,0,0,0) Bahr | ??? 
(H: 0,0,0,0) Freyd | ??? 

Ne'er Do Well 1 | 30/300 HP | 135 DMG | 45 MIT | ACC 1 | EVA 1 
Ne'er Do Well 2 | 90/300 HP | 135 DMG | 45 MIT | ACC 1 | EVA 1 
Ne'er Do Well 3 | 30/300 HP | 135 DMG | 45 MIT | ACC 1 | EVA 1 
Ne'er Do Well 4 | 90/300 HP | 135 DMG | 45 MIT | ACC 1 | EVA 1 

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Bahr

Bahr 0

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In the same instant she drew her knife, she'd find the distance closed, and the tip of Forgotten King's Spite resting gently against the edge of her blade. Crimson and verdant orbs would pierce through the shade and form a connection with hers, ennui keeping his expression and tone dispassionate as he carefully enunciated the proclamation, "Not a fight you want, and not one I aimed to start." Though the indifference in his stare indicated there was no harm intended, his gaze would not leave hers until that little toy was put away. 

"You’ve got a death wish or something?" What a squeaky little thing. "Sneaking up on people like that- !" No sooner had she sheathed her blade than Freyd shoulder checked the building, creating a cavity into some sort of depraved scene concocted by Cardinal to illicit the greatest emotional response possible. Judging by the expressions worn by his colleagues, it seemed to be a success.

Simulated children, and their pleas for help turned siren song by Cardinal; aimed to lure in those who'd called its macabre prison home for far too long. With each passing year, the system's imitation of life became more granular, more grim. It had had over eighty-thousand hours of studying thousands of Players. Figuring out what made them tick, and what made that ticker break. Aincrad had slowly let go of the cutesy MMO facade with which it had started, reconstituting as a carefully tailored nightmare simulator that hosted all manner of harrowing machinations and bewitching manipulations. Many Players had already fallen victim to seeing these virtual machines - the very tools meticulously designed to bring about their destruction - as close enough to 'human' to conjure emotional connections such as compassion or empathy. Those who saw the ruse for what it was, like Bahr, were regarded as borderline heartless by the rest.

Oh well. At least there might be some loot in it for them.

While the other three piled into Freyd's hole, Bahr's long strides carried him quickly to the front door, which opened with a lackadaisical twist of the handle. As it creaked open, he'd witness four distinct glints rush across the scene in rapid succession, each burying itself into one of the men present that separated the party from the 'helpless' little girl in the far corner. All four of the NPCs would turn their heads toward Bahr as their detection subroutines registered the intrusion. He pointed at the one furthest from the entrance with the tip of his blade, which now glowed red and hummed with the whine of a prepped Sword Art, waiting for the exact moment the recoil from Circe's knives aligned them all directly in front of him.

"Pierce."

As though a command which spurred the system into action, the distance between that furthest thug and the hovel's entrance collapsed from Bahr's point of view. Forgotten King's Spite lodged deeply into a beam supporting the wall, all four skulls of the opposition skewered along its length up to the hilt. They'd remain there for a moment, dumb and slack-jawed, until all four combusted into a miasma of fractal shards. Once the bodies had evaporated, he unburied the blade from the rotting oak and cast a wary glance to the small girl.

Wonder if that thing will be the next to try and kill us.
 

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Freyd

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Barely a hint of a grin on his face before he drove himself through the ramshackle wall, reminded of Circe's debt, his focus was immediately elsewhere.  Flying knives and whirling blades around him either meant the others had chosen to aid him, or all had exceptionally bad aim.  Dissipating mobs soon confirmed it to be the former, to his relief.  The intel he was after was too sensitive to risk waiting for reinforcements, and he'd taken a chance diving in with hostiles before him and unknowns to the rear.  All three were passing acquaintances, at best, but only mildly better than total strangers in the language or his less official trade.

Skipping between beams of light and shadow as he traversed the crowded quarters, he moved with less grace thanks to new heavier armor, yet still better than anyone might have expected.  Fingertips grazing the papers flung into the air from a nearby tabletop as they cut a swath through the enemy's ranks, each bit of script vanished and was sequestered for later review.  The enemy would be picked apart by their own records, one inconspicuous branch at a time.

"Mind the girl," he barked, slicing through a beaded curtain partition into the next 'chamber'.  Betrayal was too favoured a tactic of Cardinal's to assume she was anything less than click bait for some unwary sob, same as the cries they'd heard before bursting into this place.  Two more ruffians waited for them in the next space, chairs tossed aside and already cutlasses drawn.  The floor's nautical theme persisted, even as a slew and useless airship patrols droned overhead. Ladonia's finest were too busy sipping their latté's while safely out of reach.  Enough of the thug's original uniforms survived amongst their patchwork garb to confirm their status as part of the Peregrin gang - or else they were exceptionally stupid, wearing such gear with that crew's territory.  Both options carried potential promise and opportunities.

"Frey---hurk!"

A single, timely horizontal strike sliced both targets across the throat, leaving an indelible orange streak and halting their movement completely.  Hoofing the smaller one in the chest to bowl him over, the Whisper snared his prize from the other's belt pouch, before elbowing him in the face for good measure.  It also gave the others more room to fight.  The very fact that they'd recognized him told him everything he needed.

"We need to finish them quickly.  Their boss won't be far behind them."

***

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Omen

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Another man had showed up. Multicolored eyes, white hair. Omen watched him carefully, but Circe nearly jumped out of her skin; she hadn't expected his sudden appearance. Reflexively, she'd drawn her knife, and in an instant, she'd found the gap closed, the swordsman's blade pressed against the edge of Circe's own. 

"Not a fight you want, and not one I aimed to start." The man's voice easily indicated that there was no harm intended, but Omen wasn't too fond of the overt display of aggression. Drawing a weapon out of surprise was one thing; making an unnecessary show of dominance was entirely another. Omen lumbered over, towering behind Circe and staring down at the white-haired swordsman. Omen's amber gaze matched the man's mismatched own, unwavering. His voice was uncharacteristically sharp. 

"Watch yourself, boy." 

But the dispute did not have a chance to continue. They had more pressing concerns. 

Though digital children and refugees admittedly weren't something he should find himself concerned over, his paternal instincts took over, and he found himself desperate to do what he could to help. They were in it now. The first group fell quick, and the second seemed to be following suit. Though Omen had openly admitted he was a tank, and as such, wouldn't be capable of what the others were, he still put his best effort in. He swung out at the next group of paralyzed goons, letting the Sword Art carry his body through the motions. 

ph 

***

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Circe

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With a swift motion, she let the first knife fly. It sliced through the air with a whisper, and within moments, it embedded itself into Iristmuth’s side. The second followed immediately, sinking into Kalavan’s shoulder. The effects took hold almost instantly. Circe smirked as she saw the status effects pop up.  Freyd had already Paralyzed them both, but the second one did apply. Blood began to well from the wounds, the bleed effect almost ready to start to working its damage.

Confident in her work, she didn’t bother to wait for the full impact. Her eyes flicked to Bahr, the swordsman who had caused her such irritation moments earlier.  The enemies HP Bars were hardly a breath away from disappearing entirely.  They should have no problems dispatching these two before even her bleed was to be relevant.  Freyd mentioned their boss would soon follow leaving her to anticipate their arrival.

***

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Bahr

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Mind the girl?

He eyed the NPC curiously, still stuck in her sobbing routine on loop.

No, I don't think I will.

Slow, long strides carried Bahr from one room to the next, where it seemed his companions were already embroiled in frenetic combat, appendages thrown amid Swort Arts against more NPCs like seasoning sprinkled into a mushroom sauté. His saunter brought him between the injured baddies, and a simple motion traced a crimson semicircle around his form and through them. Two more fractal combustions heralded their end.

"Crying in the first room stopped," Bahr noted, the silence becoming thick as all members of the party honed in on its intrusion. Bahr's suspicions regarding the girl hadn't changed - in fact it was now more suspicious than ever that the loop had ceased. Bahr was familiar with the cadence of these impromptu dungeons Cardinal liked to populate the floating castle with, and there was always a boss monster right around now.

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Freyd

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"Aww... crap.  That's never good, if perhaps predictable."  Freyd acknowledged, confirming Bahr's observation while glancing skyward, half-expecting to see some cartoonish Cardinal pseudo-face gleefully glaring down at them. For a cold, calculating machine, it had one hell of a twisted sense of humour.

"Nice dagger throws, by the way," he offered Circe, whose skills had definitely sharpened since their last encounter, the sultry woman's demeanor having shifted decidedly more towards aggression than he recalled.  Duly noted.  The fact that none had hit him in the back was considered a bonus.

"And don't worry about damage, big man," a grateful nod offered to Omen for his efforts.  "There were plenty of other tools at a player's disposal to prove helpful in a fight.  Tanking also takes longer to build towards, but is invaluable in a pinch."  He knew the dour giant would find his way soon enough, and seemed aptly suited to the stoic role.

His primary object accomplished, all that remained was to clear out, meaning play time was back on the table.  Brandishing his black blade towards the girl's most recent location, his eyes scanned their surrounding for other possible unwanted visitors, or an unexpected vector for the boss' assault.

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Omen

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Creeping into view with the grotesque body of a giant spider, the girl followed them, her body twisted and malformed, her face upside down and grinning. Omen turned to face the girl and frowned. His first thought was that this world they were trapped in was a truly demented place. How horrible, truly, to have something like this as a dungeon boss mob. 

His second thought was that its name was Scarface, and its face had no scars whatsoever. Was that supposed to be a reference to that old film? What? Was that supposed to be funny? It didn't even make any sense. Omen steeled himself and rushed forward. If this was the type of thing he would have to face in his time in SAO, then so be it. He would do it. His axe swung wide, catching Scarface clean in the temple. The beast was staggered, stunned, its many limbs locking up and freezing. It would take some time to recover.  

*** 

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Circe

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Circe watched as Omen's axe slammed into the grotesque spider creature, Scarface, with a force that staggered it. For a moment, she hesitated, taking in the twisted, malformed figure of the girl-turned-spider, its upside-down face grinning grotesquely.

"What kind of place is this?" she muttered under her breath, feeling a mix of disgust and fascination. This place really had a way of warping things, but she couldn't dwell on that now. Omen had it stunned, and she wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip.

With quick precision, Circe darted forward, her fingers deftly finding the hilt of one of her daggers. She flicked her wrist, sending the blade flying toward Scarface's bloated spider abdomen. The dagger struck true, but instead of the satisfying sound of flesh being punctured, it hit the carapace with a dull thud, barely sinking in.

"Tch." Circe clicked her tongue, frustration bubbling up as she saw the numbers pop up but noticed the damage was negligible. The spider's carapace was thicker than she'd expected.

***

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Bahr

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The shriek that warbled from the monster's gullet rang like a siren song in Bahr's ears. At the edges of his lips, the faintest upward quirk signaled his approval for the grotesque amalgamation of mismatched body parts that now stared down the party. It was nowhere near the most fearsome creature he'd faced, but it was a hell of a lot closer than anything he'd com into contact with in a long, long time.

A knowing glance shot a signal to Freyd - if played correctly, they could have the beast slain before it managed an meaningful counterattack. His gaze next connected with Circe, then Omen. Their roles were no different than before, but - should the larger of the two allow it - they could serve to make their initial rush more expedient. 

As Omen rushed forth, so too did Bahr, matching pace with the tank as he lunged forward and clonked his axe against the the periphery of the freak's skull. Knives sailed past the pair and buried themselves into the reinforced chitin of the monster's appendages so as to extend its recoil. As Omen brought his axe down, Bahr pushed his back against Omen's, rolling up and toward their shared adversary as the larger of the two men turned. The momentum of the action carried Bahr's sword into the visage of their foe with increased speed, the blade cracking against the side of its head in the exact same spot that Omen's axe had struck only moments before.

Their joint attack concluded, both would double back and regroup with the others, leaving the mob still reeling.

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Freyd

Freyd 0

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Catching the meaning of Bahr's gaze, Freyd made a break for the abomination's flank, black blade melting and reforming into a slimmer, nastier darkness as he moved.  As the others struck it more directly, a piercing shard of metal flicked from his vambrace to snare their prey with precious tender hooks - or hooks in tenders - and yank, hard.  Waiting to strike as the boss fell backwards, off balance, the plan went wrong the moment his snare's chain broke free, ripping off a useless hunk of digital mesh to no effect.  Freyd suddenly found himself askew instead, managing little more than a wild, warding parry made to keep their recovering enemy from taking advantage as he tumbled backwards.

"Damnit," he cursed between clenched teeth, bracing himself with an outstretched hand to resume his stance.  For reasons unknown to all save fate, this hadn't been his night.  Maybe he'd already spent fortune's favor on finding these three to haul his unlucky ass out of the fire?

"Uh... how about best two out of three?  I'm calling a Mulligan on that one."

***

Freyd's Action:

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Omen

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Omen and Bahr's attack had succeeded in dealing a significant amount of damage to the grotesque creature. He knew that Bahr had played a much larger role in wounding it than he had. But he would not discredit himself. He still had a purpose to serve. 

"Do not worry, Freyd," Omen called out, his shield raised. Omen did not know what a mulligan was. "I can hold the beast's attention for now." 

Although he knew that if it came down to a competition between the two of them, Freyd would come out on top in terms of his ability to tank, Omen wouldn't sell himself short. The situation called for a defender; it just so happened that in this particular situation, it ended up being him. Had he expected to get thrown into such a bizarre situation, he likely would have prepared himself better. Oh, well. There was no point in worrying about such things now. 

*** 

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Circe

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Circe stood back for a moment, watching as Freyd and Omen both stumbled in their attacks. Freyd’s chain had failed to land properly, leaving him off-balance, and Omen’s strike, while powerful, hadn’t quite finished the job. Scareface was already starting to recover from the initial onslaught.

She didn’t hesitate, though. While they regrouped, she saw her opening. With a quick, fluid motion, Circe slid two more daggers from her belt, their polished steel gleaming in the dim light. She twirled them effortlessly between her fingers, feeling the familiar weight before letting them fly.

Both daggers soared through the air, arcing slightly before embedding themselves into the creature’s abdomen and legs. The impact wasn’t as satisfying as she’d hoped; once again, the carapace absorbed most of the damage.

"It's alright, we are still in this."  She called out trying to reassure those who were down on their luck with their hits.

She moved to the side giving space for Bahr, readying another dagger for a follow-up.

****

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Bahr

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A horrendous screech reverberated off the walls of the hovel which entombed the party, the grating noise of Forgotten King's Spite dragged across the mineral aggregate that composed the floor. There were a fair number of swordsmen who'd find the prospect of tarnishing such a sacred relic appalling. Those same were the sorts who hadn't the cunning nor raw talent to inherit such an heirloom themselves. There was a certain finesse which encompassed an all-out brawler's strategy, learned only through eating countless knuckle sandwiches and soil hors d'oeuvres through spectacular failure.

Surviving was the trick, the great teacher. Misdirection was one of its lessons. Being willing to take a good hit to deal back an even bigger one was its reality. Avoiding that hit in its totality was merely a bonus - the sprinkles atop a meat-grinder sundae served hard and cold to one's adversaries via laceration-induces liquefaction. Of course, it was always possible you'd need to kill a few brain cells with some good thwacks to the noggin before even considering any of the above advice to ring true.

The beast heard, and resented, the howl of the blade's scrape against uneven cobble. It craned its repulsive head Bahr's direction as the swordsman approached, readying itself for the inevitable upswing which would threaten to rip its underbelly asunder. An armored appendage shot out from the creature's bulbous body it intercept the weapon before it could dig in, but found now contact. Instead, Dawn's Demise manifested in Bahr's free hand in a ribbon of light, falling from above and cutting clean through one of the joints attaching the monster's outstretched appendage to the main body.

Ah, sprinkles.

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