Acanthus

I want to be her. Acanthus had expected a tall, brutish goatman to be her guide. She was shocked at how wrong she was. Her guide was a lithe satyr, about 190cm tall. She had the lean muscles of someone that had achieved their physique through a lifetime of practical hard work. Her face was young, but spoke of a well-traveled guide that had seen and withstood decades of strife. The calm confidence she exuded left Acanthus feeling that no harm would come to her, so long as they traveled together. The satyr leaned against a nearby olive tree, perking up once she noticed Acanthus. S

Stepping out into floor 17, Acanthus noted the similarities to floor 24. It had the same classical, Mediterranean feel to it. But where Scalabis was modeled after Rome, floor 17 was modeled after Greece. Togas greeted her as far as the eye could see; even some of the players seemed to enjoy the fashion here. Acanthus had almost made the decision to settle here. But the cinders of a feud still burned on this floor. And everyone here is so serious. I tend to be serious myself; I don’t need any encouragement. Scalabis was the right amount of refined and cheerful for her. It kept her exposed

Tink. Plonk. Fanfare. Ding. That was a strange collection of sounds. A small avalanche of events had just occurred, and Acanthus did her best to sort them out. She had just been getting the hang of crafting. She put the finishing touches on a new support song. Tink. At last, she had successfully completed the craft. Plonk. A notification informed her she was now level two. Fanfare. And a message hit her inbox immediately. Ding. Of all the sounds, the one that intrigued her was “Ding.” She rarely used the message system. Maybe it was Edict, inviting her out. Disappointed, she read t

Name: Cantata for the Living Profession: Performer Rank: 2 Roll ID: 225792 Roll Result: CD: 9 LD: 18 Item Type: Support Song Tier: 1 Quality: Uncommon Masterpiece Enhancements: Mass HP Recovery 1 Post Link: Here Description: A blaring choral piece that sings of salvation

Crafting for 8/12/2024 Roll ID CD LD Quality Experience 1 (Support) 225791 7 16 Salvage (Success) +3 2 (Support) 225792 9 18 Uncommon (Masterpiece) +4 3 (Debuff) 225793 8 8 Uncommon +4 4 (Debuff) 225794 12 20

Crafting for 8/11/2024 (Ambition active: +1 EXP per crafting attempt | Trinket) Roll: ID# CD: LD: Quality Count Experience 1 225549 CD: 6 LD: 3 Salvage (Fail) - +3 2 225550 CD: 9 LD: 7 Salvage (Fail) - +3

She waved to Nyanko as the cat peeked out of the tracksuit. "what sort of familiar are you looking for, exactly?" Eight-year old Haru was immediately there, pulling on Acanthus’ cloak. "I want a puppy. She’s gotta be a she, and she’s gotta be like, a year old. I want a cute dog, kinda small but not too small you know? And black fur, with some brown highlights…" She rambled on while Acanthus thought for a moment. She looked up at NIGHT and smiled. “I hadn’t really settled on anything, actually. I wasn’t sure how much say I had in the whole thing. Based on the quest directions, I

Haru, dear, you know that we can’t get a dog. It’s too much responsibility right now. Once you’re older and your father stops traveling so much, we’ll talk about getting you a pet. Acanthus relaxed on a bench near the eastern gate of the Town of Beginnings, ready to find her familiar. All the pieces were accounted for. She had tracked down the Travelling Gypsy. It hadn’t been easy—the info broker’s guide accurately noted she was “untethered to any particular location.” She had spent the better part of three days traveling from floor to floor, questioning NPCs and players alike. She f

Crafting for 8/10/2024 (Ambition active: +1 EXP per crafting attempt | Trinket) Roll: ID# CD: LD: Quality Count Experience 1 224896 CD: 2 LD: 10 Fail - +2 2 224897 CD: 3 LD: 18 Fail - +2 EXP: 33

[You have been invited to a party by Freyd. Accept/Decline]. Last chance, Acanthus. You have no idea what you’re getting into. She looked up and saw that the man had dropped his cowl. His eyes were expressive: mischievous, but careworn. Looking at him, she couldn’t help but feel it was ok to trust him. I mean, sharks aren’t that big, right? Even if they’re mutated? As they walked out the main gates of Fortaleza, Freyd began describing the quest, and what they needed to do. Acanthus hung onto every word. She was getting a sense for how dangerous this was. One wrong move, and the shark

THREAD SUMMARY EXP Gained: 300 (Quest) + ((4,751/10) * 2 * 1) = 1,250 * 2 (New player recruitment) = 2,500 EXP Col: 400 (1 page * 400) = 400 col <<Martial Arts>> Unlocked <<TECH-F>> Sword Art Unlocked

“You have harnessed your inner strength and learned to channel it outward, proving your worth. I am proud to call you my student.” Acanthus bowed deeply to him. “Thank you, Sensei. I will remember your lessons.” He approached, and wrapped her hands in gauze. “Let’s return to the dojo. I have some ointment and tea to share before you make your journey back down the mountain." Back in the dojo, the Master poured Acanthus a cup of piping hot green tea. The ointment on her freshly rewrapped knuckles was already beginning to take effect. “I feel like a new person.” She said out loud.

Steadily, Acanthus worked into a rhythm. Draw the wrist to the waist, drive the punch. Crack. Draw the wrist to the waist, drive the punch. Crack. Her father had now appeared. He was pacing behind her, seething like someone who didn’t understand “No.” He barked at her like a drill sergeant. A lady behaves. Crack. A lady is quiet. Crack. A lady never asks. Crack. Or wants. Crack. She merely provides. Crack. These are the things you are meant for. Crack. I do this because I care about you. Crack. I want you to live up to our family name. Crack. Her wrists were numb, her

Progress was glacial, but each strike shook the boulder. It’s only a matter of time. She began to wonder what her father would say to this. Shouting, throwing punches… It was certainly most “unbecoming” he would have ever seen her. He would take one look at her gi and say, “Don’t dress in rags.” Crack. He would look at the sweat rolling off of her and say, “Don’t exert yourself—allow me.” Crack. He would look at her knuckles, red and bare, and say “You are ruining yourself.” Crack. She drove her fists into the boulder harder than before. I will dress how I want. I will

She could no longer see it, but she felt the rock as she struck it. It did not reverberate with a full, solid feel. It was yielding to her strength. No, not my strength. My patience. Patience had always been her greatest attribute. She did not believe she was naturally strong, or athletic, or intelligent. Anything she had achieved in sports or school was the result of her tenacity. She studied until she slept. She practiced until she could no longer get it wrong. Whenever her task was not barred by time, she knew she would succeed. I have as long as it takes. I know I can do thi

Crack. That’s not true. Crack. Here you are, thinking about lessons if you get back. Crack. When you get back. Then why did I wait until now to feel that way? I never wanted to upset dad. Crack. It seemed like he was happier when I wasn’t in karate. But he also seemed happier when my aunt was around. Crack. So what happened? Does it matter? Crack. Sweat was pouring off of Acanthus’ brow and into her eyes. Rather than wiping them, she closed them. The boulder isn’t moving, and neither am I. Relying on her forms and steps, she continued attacking the boulder. She imagined her

Without losing focus, she tried switching up her movements. She practiced by running through the stationary forms. She practiced shifting her weight from foot to foot. And as she follow some of the gentler forms, she tried weaving in explosive movements from the other forms. Crack. Each time her mind began to wander, she recalled the overpowering sensation of the waterfall crashing down around her, and she imagined it washing away all other thoughts. Crack. Her past flowed away from her. The present rushed by in a river of timelessness. And the future would not arrive until the boulder ha

Breathing deeply, she poised for another strike. The thought of hitting solid rock intimidated her. Don’t think about the target, think about the blow. Crack. The sound of her knuckles connecting with the boulder echoed off the mountain. She heard a flock of birds from below. The master remained quiet, but his eyes spoke encouragement. Her pain indicators went off. They were distracting her. Just like the waterfall. With a deep breath, the pain indicators faded from a buzz into a barely audible hum. She struck the rock again. Crack. The hum strengthened, and Acanthus took another dee

“I see you’ve fully honed your mind. You’ve done well. You are ready to finish your training.” “Am I here to split the boulder?” The Master nodded. “Take as much time as you need. Remember your training, and begin when you are ready.” Acanthus squared off with the boulder. Standing up straight, she offered it a small bow. The Master gave a dry, wheezing laugh. “I don’t see that very often.” Acanthus said matter-of-factly, “it may be just a boulder, but it is my opponent nonetheless.” Drawing in a deep breath, Acanthus spread her feet and bent her knees. She drew her fists b

Acanthus changed into a dry gi the Master had left for her. It no longer felt like an awkward fit. She walked slowly and methodically, still deep in her own thoughts as she climbed the stairs. She had blocked out so much of her life at home—why did it take a video game to come to terms with her past? Does it matter? You are here, and you are moving forward. The top of the stairs reached the summit of the mountain. Her unease of heights buzzed in the back of her brain, but she blocked it like she had the pressure from the waterfall. The master waited for her, sitting next to a ma

I am here because I can be. I need no other reason. The sense of water around her dulled. The waterfall continued to pummel her, but blocking out the sensation seemed as easy as holding her breath. I am not here to prove myself right, or my family wrong. That does not matter. What matters is that I am here because I choose to be here. I don’t need to be “good enough.” I don’t need to fit whatever mold I’ve shaped for myself, or my family has shaped for me. I am the waterfall around me—my form and shape may change, but I will always be water. Call it what you will, expect from it what

A lady such as yourself. Memories rushed back to her. Her father talking to her kindly but sternly. Teaching her how to act, and how to behave. You must dress like this. You must eat like this. Do not laugh too loudly. I do this because I love you. I want you to be the best person you can be. A good daughter. A good wife. She had been six. To her, a father was still a figure of impassable authority. He knew best. Really, he knew everything. So if she needed to be a good daughter, she would do just that. The water washed away her thoughts. It washed away those commands left by those a

She had not let her martial arts classes go when she was seven like she remembered. Her mind focused, overcoming the onslaught of the water around her. She stood in the doorway of her father’s office. She had come home from University for break. She was ready to confront him about his letter. She wanted to take taekwondo as an elective, and he had refused. “You cannot.” “Does that mean you prohibit me, or you do not believe in me?” He remained silent. “I cannot force your hand. But I will not pay for you to learn things that do not further your education.” “You paid fo

Time had lost all meaning. Acanthus merely wandered from thought to thought. She remembered sadly listening to her friends talk about all the things they learned in karate class. She remembered seeing her father burning letters addressed to Haru. She remembered the happiness in her father’s face as she slowly quieted down with age, and let the issue of karate classes die. The water enveloped her. It was a steady, dull kind of pain. Something that helped guide her thoughts and emotions. It was a stimulus that forced her back into reality, and then prompted her to block it out as she rememb

But things got worse when her aunt stopped visiting. Nobody would tell Haru why. Her mother always seemed eager to change the subject. Her father would give her the same brusque answer each time: “She made a choice to act in a way unbecoming of herself and her family. She has left.” Even in the pouring water, Acanthus felt tears on her cheeks, washed away as they formed. After her aunt left, Haru’s father changed. It was an almost imperceptible shift. He was sadder, and harsher. His stoic demeanor had solidified even further. Six months after her aunt’s last visit, he pulled Haru out