Acanthus

The more Acanthus delved into the system, the more fascinated she grew with it. What she had initially perceived as cascading series of binary finality was really something more lifelike. Cardinal could be cajoled. It could be imposed upon, pleaded with, even argued with. She noticed it most in the sword arts. To a novice, the arts were rigid, mandatory paths that created Cardinal-sanctioned combos. A player comfortable with those combos could mold them: hold a stance for a second too long, or twist a stab into a slash. By the time her sword stopped glowing, Acanthus could change the art into

The crowd waited for Acanthus to make her next move. All eyes were on her. Their chests rose and fell with one collective soul, breathless with anticipation. And I am ready to give them the show they deserve. "Iuguoli te salutamus!" She bellowed to the crowd. She was disappointed that she didn't recall much from her brief dive into Latin. "Iuguolo" wasn't the root word she was looking for, but it was the only one that had come to mind. It was like a bomb had gone off. The stands erupted in a cacophony that shook the stones beneath her feet. With a single phrase, Acanthus had moved f

What had she despised about fighting in the first place? It was everything she loved. Fighting shunned the social niceties she struggled to navigate. Acanthus had ignored the gladiator's salute, and the crowd didn't care. She didn't care! All this time she thought she would never be able to get out of her own head, but it turned out she just needed a way to escape. And combat was the perfect avenue. It was a simple, primal thing that turned off the most debilitating parts of her hesitance. But it didn't turn everything off. To the contrary, fighting was far from thoughtless. A good fighter was

The crowd had already forgotten her earlier transgression, and was now fully on her side. They screamed for the death of the last two men. No, not death. I'm real, they aren't. Her blade cut clean through the first man's temple. I'm real. They aren't. They last man vanished in a gasp of pain as she pulled her sword slowly through his torso. She stood victorious and untouched. Someone did, at least. A girl that looked strikingly like Acanthus, talked like her, and thought like her. Almost like her, that is. But it was someone else. Acanthus wasn't capable of this, after all. Whoever it was

Acanthus prowled the edges of the arena, waiting for the iron bars to raise one more time. The last round of beast tamers barely had a moment in the light before Acanthus was on them. She pounced, ripping the spear away from one who had not even raised his weapon, eyes bulging in surprise. She impaled the disarmed man, tore the spear from his gut and hurled it at the second. He faltered while dodging the haphazard spear, reeling while Acanthus closed the distance. In three large steps, she was inside his reach, smiling joylessly as botan sliced him apart. The people around her roared in a

"Look at her go! She doesn't give a damn—" "Killed 'em right during the salute! I love a good bad guy—" "Ugh, woke games featuring unattractive females—" Okay, so the crowd wasn't totally won over. But her display of power had shifted something in the stands. And as much as she despised her feelings, she enjoyed it. Maybe she could tolerate the attention for now. Four more bestiarii entered the coliseum. They did not make the mistake their predecessors did. Forsaking the crowd, they proceeded immediately to an offensive formation, keeping Acanthus on her back foot. Patientl

The bestiarii surrounded her with spears, trying to keep their opponent at bay. Acanthus stalked their makeshift confine, testing its limits with swipes from botan. When one swipe knocked the spear just far enough away, she seized on the moment. Like a flash, she vanished from the center of the circle, cutting down one of the gladiators. More boos from the crowd. That's fine. I'm real. They aren't. The two remaining gladiators now took the offensive in tandem. But at half strength, they proved weak. Even with the benefit of range, Acanthus batted away their stabs. They were strong togethe

Just when she started to ignore all the voices, the gates at the far end of the area screeched open. Out into the light stepped four lithe, nameless figures. They wore light leather armor that covered their lower half, but left their well-muscled chests bare (and oiled) to the crowd. It seemed like a foolish oversight, but the crowd seemed to love it. Acanthus drew botan and began to walk towards the enemy. It was time to begin. Or so she thought. The four men drew their spears and faced outward towards the crowd, ignoring Acanthus. Uncertain, she held position, waiting for whatever secr

The iron bars in front of her shuddered and groaned. Acanthus shot out of her seat, thankful for the quest to move forward. Ducking through the rough stone gate, the gladiatrix stepped into the light to the sheers of the crowd. Acanthus blinked as her eyes adjusted. She was in the coliseum on Floor 24. She had heard the commotion from her shop, but she had never been so close. She was now part of the storm wall fueled by bloodlust and violence. The stands may have been populated by NPCs, but she could pick out individual voices. "Fuck them up, girl! I want to see some blood." "A

Link to Quest On a bench in the dark, Acanthus bounced her leg restlessly. Trickles of sun inched through the bars, teasing her with their warm rays. The swordswoman ignored the light, head bowed in thought as the clamor of the coliseum rose. The bars reminded her of time in the bandit's keep, and someone else's memories flashed in her mind's eye. A scared girl had fallen into the bandit trap looking for a scared NPC, and the two of them fought their way out of the enemy's stronghold. Or rather, one of them had. Acanthus had torn through the men like they were paper figures. It was the fi

[Initiative 240654: LD 1] On a bench in the trees, Acanthus bounced her leg restlessly. A different fight in a different arena, but the same warm beams inching towards her, begging her to believe in the game that surrounded her. It hadn’t worked the first time, and it was not working now. She had hoped that the quest in the arena would help her sort out her thoughts. If I kill enough things that look human, I can get used to it, right? But the mantra that had soothed her before held no sway. I'm real, they aren't. Except this time, her opponents were real. They had names and lives, h

Request @Wulfrin Fractured Heart | Shield | 236206c | Paralyze | Regen | Holy Blessing A shining kite shield resembling half a heart. Despite its sturdiness, the wearer feels every hit. Fractured Heart | Shield | 235657a | Regen | Holy Blessing | Flame Aura A shining kite shield resembling half a heart. Despite its sturdiness, the wearer feels every hit. Fuse to Create: Fractured Heart | Shield | FUSEID | Holy Blessing 2 | Flame Aura A shining kite shield resembling half a heart. Despite its sturdiness, the wearer feels every hit. Payment. 1 Gleaming scale se

“I see.” Silence hung heavy in the air. The women made their way back to the Town of Beginnings. Acanthus tried to move on from the conversation gracefully, but she had taken the wind out of her own sails with such a heady topic. And with such a new friendship as well. Morrígan had tactfully kept up with Acanthus’ attempts at conversation, but she couldn’t help but feel that she had soured the mood by asking a question that had no answer. Acanthus realized that she had led the pair back to the respawn area on the first floor. Or what should have been the respawn area. The etched obsi

Acanthus slapped her forehead. “Right. Dogs have plenty of jobs in the real world. I was too locked in on bears for whatever reason.” Kumaki waddled up beside her. “The thought of Kumaki assisting law enforcement or the army is… interesting. But she’s such a gentle soul, I really can’t imagine her doing much hunting or attacking. And I would feel terrible putting her in harm's way. I’m not sure what happens if a familiar’s health drops to zero. I would hope that they simply retreat for some amount of time.” Her paced slowed, and she looked up at the floating castle that served as her prison. “

“I’m back. Hold off on your other identifications for a little bit. I have something urgent for you.” She waved off Eulogy’s indignant cries. “Yes, I know about Pinball. I told him about you. It’s not like you have any other work on your plate, right? You have to level up somehow. Not to mention you may need to take some time off to go through the Challenge of Olympus. I could take some time off dungeoneering to drop by and help you out. But the quest tends to be very personalized so I wouldn’t be a lot of help.” “Anyways,” she said casually, “I have some unidentified shields I need from

Skill(s) Being Dropped: Hiding R5, Parry Mod(s)/Addon(s)/Shift(s) Being Dropped: Justified Riposte SP Incurred Towards Limit: 45/50 SP Refunded: 45 Cost: 45,000 col

“A false, digital reality…” Acanthus echoed the words back to her companion. For a moment, she had forgotten where she was. Despite the absurd premise of her current adventure—teaching a bear to sing?—she had lapsed into belief for a moment. She deflated as memories of her real life trickled back to her. Morrígan interrupted her thoughts with soothing words. “Thank you.” Blood rushed to her cheeks. She was uncomfortable with abject kindness, certain that it would sour eventually. But in the moment, she was grateful. “I will take you at your word. But I do hope it will not take muc

Acanthus listened along as Morrígan told stories about Phantom, as if letting her in on a secret. She was a gifted storyteller, and Acanthus couldn’t help but nod and grin as Morrígan described Phantom’s habits. The puffing chest, the splayed wings… Acanthus couldn’t help but picture the bird spying out the window with a humanlike curiosity. “That sounds fun to watch. I’m sure she sees the most interesting things. If only Phantom could talk. I wonder what she would say.” Morrígan glanced up, her fingers gesturing towards the raven, who appeared to be locked in on an area. Acanthus’s

Surf was up. Literally. As the waters and earth formed and approached the party, Acanthus was surprisingly quick to dispel her concerns of death. Being locked out of her inventory and seeing monsters in a safe zone made her think this was all some kind of elaborate event. Zandra’s knowing smile cemented that idea in her mind. Nevertheless, she wanted to stay cautious. So as four of the partygoers held off the monsters, Acanthus wanted to confirm her thoughts. She laid her left hand softly on the table, and smashed it with the hammer. What happened next was difficult to describe. The

THREAD SUMMARY Experience: [Word Count: 3744/10 = 374.4] * [True Tier: 7] * [Group Factor: 1] = 2621 EXP Col: 393 (Laurel Wreath) + 400 (bonus) = 793 col

“So that’s why I chose my name.” The girl struggled to wrap up her story with some neat moral or statement. What was left to say? That plant was a vital—yet ineffective—anchor to her own purpose. It was a sinking raft in an endless ocean, or an expired bottle of life-saving medication. To her, the plant was priceless in both senses of the word. Acanthus finished talking. Her system clock showed she had been here for sixteen hours. Despite the length of her stay, the hard marble floor underneath was just as cold as when she sat down. It was the little details like that which made her

Fall began, and I returned the acanthus plant inside. It had grown taller and stronger in the heat and sunlight, but the first chill would be upon us soon. So I dragged it back inside, back to the first window it had rested by when I brought it home. The acanthus no longer had a purpose. It had failed to accomplish its intended task; there was no one left in the house to cure. Koji seemed almost entirely unaffected by the situation, content to stay locked in his room and on his computer. Father returned to a version of himself that was somehow even more stoic than before. The study also r

Writing cards consumed me for months. All of my free time was dedicated to working through the stack: free periods in school, the time I had between cleaning up dinner and bedtime. When I could not sleep, I wrote in the dead of night. Even still, the stack never seemed to get smaller. How had Mom done all of this on her own? I was also wracked with guilt over the inadequacy of my cards. Mom had managed to pen masterpieces in her beautiful script and personalized messages to every single person. My penmanship was still rough and shaky. Struggling to add some beauty to the cards, I tried to

In spring, Mom passed away. I was ten. I struggled to be the picture-perfect grieving daughter. I stood at the door to greet friends and family. Some would share stories with me, but I had too few to share with them. I thanked people for arriving, but my carefully rehearsed smile couldn’t reach my eyes the way Mom’s had. I wasn’t actually sure how sad I was supposed to be. Mom was gone because of some illness I didn’t understand. Had she been living on borrowed time all along? It sounded like it, judging by Dad’s terse eulogy. There were a few sniffs and sobs, but the room seemed covered

I asked him what was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. His eyes welled up for tears, and for a moment, I thought I might see Dad cry for the first time ever. Instead, he fought down the outburst and stormed off to the study. In a flash, he opened the door and swiftly locked it behind him, and in that brief flash, I could see that the study had been ransacked. There were books and papers all over the floor, and the office chair was turned over on its side in the middle of the room, far from its usual corner. Timidly, I followed Dad, testing the lock. When it did not open, I rested my