Acanthus

THREAD SUMMARY Experience: Acanthus | [Word Count: 8608/10 = 860.8] * [True Tier: 6] * [Group Factor: 1] = 5165 EXP Col: 774 (Laurel Wreath) + 800 (Bonus Pages) + 767, 014 (Looting) = 768,588 Col (282) Materials Item totals Perfect Weapon Perfect Armor Perfect Trinket Perfect Consumable Rare Weapon

Acanthus returned to Angel’s Point, her pockets much heavier than when she started. I could never have made this much strolling around picking weeds and flowers. She remembered how scarce the shards and scales had felt whenever she took her time, gently floating from gathering point to gathering point. It had been one of her many idiosyncrasies—that somehow, pretending she was in the real world would keep her tethered and sane. Without those strange little tics, she had amassed a small horde of end-game items. All it took was throwing away the things she loved about the game. “You best wa

She crammed a fist into the nearest rotting villager’s mouth. With a firm downward motion, she ripped its jaw off. Then, taking the mossy jawbone in her offhand, she bashed in the softened skull of another nearby villager. The fallen creature’s stomach bloated as she stepped on it, caving it in as she approached the third villager. She recognized the face as the person that had handed her tea the morning she left. The last person from camp she had talked to. Useless, pathetic sacks of loot. Meant to be harvested by players. By real people. She’d done the unthinkable. She had killed an ent

She had been too weak to fulfill her promise last time. “You’ll take care of Wanderer’s Rest, won’t you?” Grile smiled weakly. Too horrified to speak, she nodded. “Great. That’s great.” Grile exhaled. “You’re gonna have to kill me. I’ll turn soon. Can you do that for me?” Acanthus was finally back to take care of Wanderer’s Rest. She couldn’t do it. The faces, the people… Acanthus almost vomited from the anxiety as she stumbled out of the camp. She couldn’t bring herself to kill them all. Even one night at their camp was long enough to grow attached to them. Dead as they were, i

Acanthus recognized some familiar ruins. Wanderer’s Rest was just beyond the bend in the road. She tore around the bend in the road. All she had to do was warn them that the caravan had died, right? She could even bring back whatever they needed. She could help. She could still help. But in the few short hours she had been gone, so much had happened. The settlement appeared abandoned. Vines and foliage crept through overturned seats and crates, and knocked over tents gave the impression that those who had been here left in a hurry. But they hadn’t left. Ambling through the camp were

Acanthus ran back to the village in a state of near panic. If Greyson and the others couldn’t keep the village safe, then it was only a matter of time. She couldn’t have all this blood on her hands. NPC, player, whatever—she couldn’t do it. Acanthus strolled along the path, slaughtering the occasional mob as she returned to Wanderer’s Rest. How long had it been since her failure with the caravan? In Aincrad, time did not flow like a river. It was a vast ocean at high noon, a merciless sun beating down on the drifting players, further adding to their disorientation. Each player was despera

When she exited the meadow, the mangled form of Grile shocked her. He grabbed Acanthus’ leg. “You…” He coughed violently. “You have to get back to the village. Tell them we won’t make it. They need to know so that someone else can bring materials back to the village. Kara… I don’t know how, but she followed us. We… we hesitated for a moment too long.” The previous pack was already gone, and Acanthus had already moved on to the next ones. They weren’t people anyways. Acanthus took a few moments to register the tree that had birthed her first real sword, Wormwood. It was enough for a

It had been exactly as it was the first time. A thick canopy obscured most of the light in the clearing, except for a single spear of sun that struck the middle of the meadow. The light shined on a single tree, far bigger than any other in the area. The Strongoak Tree. The Strongoak Tree, Greyson said with some reverence. You go ahead and gather what you need. The rest of us will be outside the meadow. Don’t worry about us—we will be fine. “Are you sure?” Acanthus worried that they were trying to get rid of her. She’d already caused the death of one of them. They assuaged her, telling her

Try as she might, she couldn’t pick the sounds out from the wall of noise in the grove. Birds cackled and leaves shook, but it felt like a sticky mess of a singular noise, like a bag of candy left in a hot car. It was nothing like the beautiful tapestry of natural sounds from the real world. All the game succeeded in doing was making her realize how fake everything here really was. Acanthus was crying. It was a steady, silent flow of tears, dropping directly into the soil beneath her. She told herself it was just exhaustion. Maybe frustration from not being up on her feet and killing. But

She paused in the grove. Something compelled her to sit and listen. A calling she had heard less of late. “Mom, what are those noises?” Haru’s mom closed her eyes, listening intently. She smiled. “Haru, dear, close your eyes. They won’t help you listen.” Haru squeezed her eyes shut, grabbing hold of her mom’s hand. As her vision melted away, she began to “see” the sounds. The wind rustled the trees in various waves of green. The taller the tree, the darker green the wave. Something vaguely brown moved in the bushes. How it was brown, she didn’t know. It just sounded that way. Then, a chor

Acanthus continued her slaughter, her mind occupied with memories. There hadn’t been anytime to give Kara a funeral. Acanthus didn’t know if the others blamed her. They were NPCs: could they hold such a human emotion? Acanthus did not detect any change from the rest of the group. Somber, yes, but to them, her death was simply a fact of life. “We’re almost there.” Greyson led the caravan down the path to the heart of the woods, where they would find the materials she needed for her blade. Whether it was fate or circumstance, Acanthus now found herself at the very same place. The tide

The higanbana blossomed in the murky pools of the boss room, dappling the landscape like flecks of blood. Her mom loved spider lilies. Even after she had lost the ability to care for the garden, mom tended the spider lilies every September like clockwork. Acanthus waded out to the lilies and picked one without a thought. As she lifted it to her face, the flower slowly turned to blue dust. YOU'LL BE NEXT, LITTLE FLOWER. Hatred mocked her with her own mother’s voice. The sea of red withered as an agonized howl rolled through the mire. A bear, covered with necrotic wounds wriggling with

But I’m done dragging them down. Dispatching another round of monsters, she planned out her next course of action. I should have a few shards and scales after this. I can work on setting up the perfect equipment for the boss fight. Maybe then I won't be useless. Like I was back in the forest on floor three. Or… The next few hours of travel went by with very little happening. Grile and Kara took to the front, Greyson on the rear, and Stubs focused on their two horses. Acanthus continued collected samples of leaves and other things she could get her hands on. As she put her tools away, Stub

When are you going to address it? The problem that has been weighing on your heart since you escaped without Edict? Grile unfolded a large vellum map. “Looks like we’re making pretty good time. I think we’ll get to the campsite before dusk.” Stubs grunted. “We won’t. Every time you say that, some mob of diseased find us and pin us down for too damn long.” Kara elbowed him. “It can’t happen every time. Besides, we’ve got a good luck charm here.” You’re a curse to the people around you. Acanthus pointed to herself, as if asking a question. Kara laughed. “Yes, you. And if you’re no

Acanthus wasted no time in her journey across floor thirteen. She moved as she fought the mobs, deeper and deeper into the wilds. She did not want to spend time looking idly at the different plants. They were all the same. True to Greyson’s word, they left quickly. Although they kept a good pace, the caravan made frequent stops to gather. Acanthus learned that what looked like a singular field of green was actually lots of different vines and plants. “These here, notice how the vines are a bit thicker where they split off. Almost like knots.” Greyson had pulled up a massive length of

Acanthus relished being a dervish of death. Killing made her feel useful. Driving another flock of villagers into the ground, she prepared herself for another wave of massacring the walking loot sacks. Stubs interrupted. “Kara, you best pull your own weight. She’s not going to kill everything that hits the caravan.” Kara shot back, “Stubs, I always pull my own weight. I’m just worried about you.” Stubs made a gruff noise, and returned to checking the packs. Kara looked back to Acanthus. “Don’t mind him. Dozens of ventures out to the wildlands and he still thinks disaster is around every c

More villagers; this time, they appeared fresher. There was very little plant life clinging to them. They almost seemed human, except for the gray and decaying skin. Blocking out their human qualities, Acanthus threw herself into the fight, prepared to grind them into money and materials. They all looked the same to her. The game probably just reset the asset models for any villager that turned into a diseased mob. Acanthus wandered over and met the three other people. They all wore similar clothes to Greyson. Grile was tall and lanky. Stubs was much shorter, but still had a wiry build. K

The minutes raced by as she prepared herself to leave Wanderer’s Rest. Her stay had been pleasant. She’d even taken a little time to talk to other NPCs. They all seemed to have little idiosyncrasies of their own. Ratwa had a funny little hiccup that had persisted since her childhood. Gruger the butcher kept the few chickens and pigs in the town, and treated the animals like royalty right up until the end. The complicated lives of the villagers reminded Acanthus of her walk through Tolbana with the mayor. But those people lived in safety. These poor villagers lived day to day with what little h

Winded, Acanthus collapsed onto a nearby log yet again. The breaks were proving worse than the fighting itself. Having to stop every few minutes just to let her energy rise was maddening. I’m not even running or exerting myself in real life, she thought miserably. At least let me be a superhuman here. A few of the villagers milled around on the road ahead of her. They really did look like props from a bad zombie movie. They limped and shambled in circles, muttering to each other until a player drew their attention. The only difference was that rather than the putrid stench of decaying fle

Another stunning whirlwind sent the villagers back. Undeterred, they shambled toward her again. A chilling wind cut through her, and she once again missed NIGHT’s cloak. Acanthus awoke from her tent the next day. She was immediately given a mug of tea as she exited. These people are really big on their hot drinks. Not that she minded. The morning was just a little too chilly, and the tea was a pleasant way to wake up. Greyson approached with his own mug and raised it in greeting. She returned the gesture. “Morning! Grile and Stubs are packing the horses right now. Kara is checki

More waves of monsters. All the same health bars, all the same damage. More of them crept out of the bushes, drawn to the sound of combat. Every villager’s death rattle inspired more to give chase. “No way. You just got done telling me just how dangerous it was out there. I don’t want to risk you on my errands.” “I’m not some damsel, adventurer.” He smiled wanly. “Gatherers have to know how to fight. Besides, it wouldn’t just be for your quest. There’s some acidic moss near that grove that we use to keep the vegetation at bay. We’ve been running low for the past few months, and we’re

“Sorry, bonfire time is supposed to be comforting, and here I am sharing ghost stories with you.” “Thank you for telling me about it. I can’t imagine living with this every day.” The villagers here had it so easy. They didn’t have anything to escape. They were molded by their misery, and better off for it. She cracked open a diseased villager’s head, and termites poured out of the festering vegetation. Greyson took a long swig from his mug. “It is what it is. We’ll survive. We survived the worst of it, and we’ll survive what’s left of the plague. But enough of that. What brings

“That’s it. The plants take over. The lucky ones inhale enough to die on the spot. If you’re less than fortunate, then you have to be put down.” “Put down?” “Yea. We call them ‘the diseased.’ They look human, but its the plants that have taken over. They attack or maul anything that isn’t green. They’ll drag you into the undergrowth. And then you feed the plants.” Even with her warm drink, Acanthus felt chills. The heat of battle began to bring life back to her numb extremities. Her rampage really felt more like a light jog. Her energy bar depleted bit by bit. That was the

The chill of the floor permeated her bones. She’d have killed for a warm drink. She was killing anyways—four more diseased villagers fell to her sword. There was no end to them. Acanthus sat with a hot green tea pushed into her hand by the man. He had introduced himself as Grayson. He was one of the new gatherers in Wanderer’s Rest. He had taken over for a veteran that got lost a few weeks back and didn’t return. “It’s not an easy life out here,” he explained while they nursed their drinks. “Most people outside Angel’s Point don’t last long. Us included.” His bluntness shocked Acanth

The warm fire beckoned her closer. It took the chilly edge from the evening, and the warm red glow eased her nerves about the previous encounter. Wait, what encounter? Acanthus, we need to talk about this. What did Hatred say that day? The bonfire was as much peace as she’d ever felt in the game. It reminded her of her camping trip in the mountain with college friends. They’d all packed tents when the air was just getting chilly and ventured out for a small taste of nature. Next time I grind, I’ll have to find a more accommodating floor. Acanthus shook creeping vines from her boot. E