FOR THEY CANNOT DIE ANYMORE, BECAUSE THEY ARE EQUAL TO ANGELS.

[cccorp]

Today, the canals of Mac Anu flow as gentle as they always do, gondolas drifting lazy through the paths of sunlight cut bright across the water. Shops and vendors line the stonework streets along the waterways, a general murmur of NPCs circulating through their preprogrammed business keeping Mac Anu, as always, feeling maybe a little more alive than a real city.

There is one particular bridge that nearly every player's taken at least once, because it connects to a great many other places of interest, and it's wide enough for easy travel. Besides, with the professions update, they've put a fishing spot on the other side of it. NPCs with fishing rods litter the spot in alternating shifts, their laughter mingling with the calls of shopkeeps advertising cheap prices for some simple plants to get started crafting with, and the clink of forks and plates at a restaurant nearby, its customers singing the chef praises.

Below the bridge, a gondolier passes, humming, his gondola drifting along its circuit through the canals, his tune in rhythm with the passing conversation. As he comes out from under it and sails further away, he glances up at the bridge, as if he were expecting something, and he seems to see it. His gaze remains fixed there until, eventually, the water takes him out of sight again.

Today, you might notice that at the base of this bridge, just before your feet, is a red sort of smear.

A little further down the bridge, about a fourth of the way along it, is a person collapsed on the ground. The red trails to him, fallen forward.

You see upon approaching his hand grasping at his throat at the singularly cut sliced deep into his neck. His one good eye wide and unblinking, he is—among all the laughter and conversation on either side of the bridge; in the shadow of the clock tower, which stands a silent witness, the sun at its back—no longer breathing, his body cool to the touch.

Perhaps this could be considered a kindness: for one who failed, time and time and again, to grasp the desire to live, maybe he found some suggestion of it in his last moments, his hand at his throat, his palm smeared with dried blood, a curious anomaly in the deathless Mac Anu. Fragment had, after all, taught him a great many things. Should he not be grateful for one more, no matter how permanent the lesson?

Mithrun is dead.

Comments

[insinning]

[ ... Oria had said it might have been Sarabi. But people could get hurt here too. Just maybe, just maybe... ]

Lets go to a dungeon. Lets see if we can find which ones he was exploring before...

[His voice catches for a moment. And he can't stand it, watching Tylor sit here for hours with no one to back him up.

It's not fair]

...someone has to test out all the keywords.

[tylorific]

Oh, okay. You really think that'll help?

[ Tylor says it as he stands, Orion cradled in his arms even as he winces at the stiffness in his legs from where they'd fallen asleep.

He's shaking them out with some wobbliness when he asks-- ] What keywords do you think they are?

[insinning]

[It's fine. He understands this behaviour well. What had he been doing that first week? Going to sleep every night, hoping everything was a horrible nightmare. Waiting to be waked up by his sister's singing, waiting for reality to right itself when the morning came.

It never did.

But until he sees Mithrun's real body for himself...]

...unless you have Mithrun's list, I'm not sure. Trial and error, until we can work it all out.

[Until either of them can't move anymore. That's fine. That's an easier way of dealing with everything]

'Piling Season's Daydream'. Should we try that?

[tylorific]

Trial and error sounds like just the sort of thing Morgan likes.

[ Tylor laughs, it's such a bright sound. Even when he looks back to Morgan's body one last time and adds-- ] I sure hope he's doing okay.

[ But almost as soon as he says it, he's heading towards the gate. ]

Alright, let's go!

[insinning]

[Sinclair says nothing. But he takes Tylor's hand to hold him steady. Both of them steady]

...then we'll keep going until we find something.

[Or Hien lets them near Mithrun's body]

[tylorific]

[ Tylor takes his hand as naturally as breathing, lacing their fingers with a squeeze. ]

That's the spirit. Everything will be okay.

[insinning]

[ Nothing is okay. But as unsettling as Tylor's relentless optimism is right now...]

The gate is opening.

[And they step through, into a murky forest]

[ this is an area run now ]

[tylorific]

Oh, there's a tower.

[ Tylor says as they step through, and he's ready to casually make his way there, Vogel's hand still in his. ]

[insinning]

I forgot what keywords trigger it but...

[Tylor can keep holding his hand until they find monsters ]

[tylorific]

Oh man, Morgan usually knows that kind of thing.

[ It's said in such an offhand way, as if even he doesn't realize that he keeps happily relating things back to Morgan. While hope is still there. ]

I don't normally pay attention to the words.

[insinning]

I wish I asked him about his spreadsheet...

[He exhales slowly as they continue along. They're at the foot of the dungeon now so]

Are you ready?

[tylorific]

Remember to ask him next time.

[ Tylor says it airily, but at Vogel's question he shrugs, suddenly wearing a Japanese middle school uniform. It's too big on him, endearingly so. But this is his special set.

And now he's already walking ahead because he's just used to being the tank. But they're both level 50 and this shouldn't be too hard. ]

Let's go!

[insinning]

Tylor...what are your other classes?

[ Because they can get too far, there are shield men blocking their way.

Mithrun hated these]

[tylorific]

Hm? Oh, reaper and grappler.

[ He stops before using the Lord Partizan ability he'd been planning to try. Instead, he holds up his new Protractor inspired gauntlets with a smile-- ]

But I see, you must want to go first, right? Have you tried Rue Break yet?

[insinning]

Not...yet.

[Sinclair frowns and steps forward to break the stance with Rue Break]

We need more damage than what we can do as Lord Partizans on our own.

[tylorific]

[ Tylor is already taking a bounding step behind from behind Vogel and drawing up out of his slouch. It's as if he'd already trusted that the other would use Rue Break, since Vogel barely finishes his sentence as Rue Basher lands. Off center, protractor gauntlets flying just above Vogel's head and right into the sweet spot of the one whose stance he just broke.

That ups the damage, doesn't it? ]

Oh relax, it's easy to get the angle right with these!

[ He jokes with a little laugh, clacking his gauntlets together. ]

[insinning]

[He wasn't that worried, but that's fine. He readies his polearm, a shiver of revulsion as a whistle sounds in the air as he swings it.

He hates this he hates this he hates this. His white-gold armour, recalling the merriment of Christmas is soaked in blood as he lops off a monster's arm with an easy Thorn Dance.]

As long as you can defend-!

[tylorific]

[ Tylor laughs again. ]

What if I offend instead?

[ He thinks his joke is funny at least, as they crack and dismember their first shield monster. Tylor doesn't have the full damage of a tribal grappler, but he is faster than a full Lord Partizan. Which makes it easier for him to get behind them while they focus Vogel. His arms come up like there is something in them when there isn't.

They aren't in a party, so he calls out cheerily-- ] Duck!

[ And just as he swings his apparently empty hands, there's a flicker where the weapon change is too fast for having gone to his inventory. From gauntlets to a giant ruler with a metal edge that flips out like a compass as it arcs. Rai tornado. Thunder, a noticeable shock to the amount of damage that he slashes across three dark elemental targets at once.

Sorry about all that blood, probably. ]

[insinning]

[Ducking!

It's fine. Sinclair is bringing all the blood on his clothes himself, each stain growing as a monster goes down. He swings his polearm again, gritting his teeth at that infuriating whistle as he slashes down another shield man, the goblin-like creature crumbling under their onslaught. And just as suddenly, it's done. Sinclair pants a little as he straightens]

...I really don't like those monsters.

[tylorific]

Well, then I guess it's a good thing we got them all! Nice job, Chef. You're a really good tank.

[ Tylor is breathing a shade heavier, not quite a pant. But he's predictably all smiles for it as his weapon pops out of existence. There's something cathartic about fighting soulless creatures, even if he's not actively aware of it.

They don't know what they're doing, or if this will even help Morgan at all. But at least it feels like he's doing something. ]

Huh, is that galloping?

[ They don't have much time before the dark horses arrive, the sound of their hooves echoing from above them in the tower. Winding downward and becoming louder. ]

[insinning]

I try.

['Cursed'. Uta had told them what the sprites had told her about the armor. But it's only fitting he keeps the armor on, and lets the whistle of his polearm fuel his anger, simmering so deep in him. There's no one to be angry at right now, so he turns those frustrations to the monsters before them. This is a curse, this whole day has been cursed - what's one more for him to carry?]

Ah. I haven't fought these before.

[But he can crush them either way]

[tylorific]

[ There's a blink when he glances at Vogel; soft concern in the brief moment before their next opponents come into view. But by the time it's almost too late to offer, he grins and offers anyway-- ]

Want to go first again?

[insinning]

Yeah. Let me handle the direct attacks.

[He steps forward again, brandishing but also, adds the potion of luring to himself. Draw the aggro, tank the attacks, hit hard where he can - and then Tylor can sweep through with everything he had]

[tylorific]

You got it, chef.

[ Tylor agrees breezily, letting Vogel start things. He stops to clap at that potion-aggro opening for a beat before he joins in the fray. Predictably he is bored by using the same old attacks over and over again, so some of these centaur looking guys are getting punched and others sliced; peppering them but able to withstand the stray enemy damage. Vogel is still far tankier, but it's clear that Tylor could off tank even for him if needed. ]

[insinning]

[That's fine. They needed more aggro than they needed defense. Sinclair is relentless despite his role, and soon, there are no more of those dark horses left either]

...do you hear anymore?