First off I would like to apologise to anyone who actually works in the QA profession (Read:
@Tiypo).
Second off, I made the
fuck up for it with that sword training section, dammit.
Right, but I didn't get the sense that either Jaune was impressed by what he'd done. Hence the "others", as is there's a suggestion that he might be. Either way it's really fine, I know what you meant.
Also, he totally Cut without thought, but there's no rule about regretting the results.
Fair point. I've fixed it up a tad.
I mean characters that I acknowledge the existence of. Someone brings PunPun to my table and either they or the character are leaving.
PunPun uses a number of Rules as Written exploits in order to gain the ability to acquire literally any ability the player cares to imagine at will. As in, I can imagine the ability "to be able to turn any entity in the universe into a sandwich with a snap of my fingers without chance of failure", so if I wanted to I could apply that to PunPun through the necessary mechanism. It's not particularly far off from omnipotence that can grant omniscience, really.
In that context, PunPun can just assign himself an arbitrary amount of divine ranks and wealth generation and not bother clearing any one dungeon in particular. Moving a single trap shouldn't have had any effect if you actually did "allow" PunPun to operate as described. (Even if you did something cute like move the SoA to his starting location, once the player has any control, he can immediately become immune to them.)
Sorry about the pedantry, but I was very invested in D&D charop ages ago, so the misrepresentation bugged me.
... Now I just feel like reading Oyasumi Punpun again.
Damn you.
Damn you all.
Seriously, what fun is that sort of character? The best characters are the ones that barely know what the hell they're doing, are constently in a crisis which is he the time of their own making, and have some inane goal which is only tangently being met by the quest they're on.
Ah, I see you are a man of culture as well.
Fun fact: Prequel was going to be a choice as well, then I decided that, A, I couldn't keep up that kind of humour, and B, there is no B I'm just really not witty enough to pull off a Prequel crossover.
Finally caught up to this quest! I saw earlier (and by earlier i mean a few weeks ago lol) that you were having trouble with color names;
this is a list of about 1700 color related given names and surnames and
this has a decent amount of team names. Both sheets are editable if you want to add your own names as well and the owner seems to update them fairly frequently. Hope you find it helpful.
I only just found this quest and have mostly just read the threadmarks of the main story (I'll catch up on the rest later), but does
this help? I've linked it in a couple of other RWBY quests here on SV.
THOSE BOTH HELP A LOT YES THANK YOU
Ahem. Honestly, if I keep going the way I'm going, there's going to
be 1700 individual characters in this quest, so yes, very helpful.
I mean, we're already past... what, 40? 50?
Ha
ha oh god I'm turning into Drew Hayes-
If we were to score the OC team, which I'm guessing a lot of people are hoping for, I was thinking a good name would be JACL read Jackal. There's not a lot of words with those letters though.
So far, the only options I've seen using any combination of J, A, A, D, L, T, C, D are JACL, Jackal, and JACT, Jacinth, which I suggested. Someone suggested Apricot, I think, but I don't see a P in there, do you?
I think
someone suggested Acetylene, which, while appropriate, is not a colour.
Anyway, update!
|||
You look over the job listings given and pick out the one that seems simple.
You've never done QA testing before, but you trust Blue to get on your new employer's good side. If nothing else, it's good money for a day's work in an industry that you are somewhat interested in.
You place your head on the pillow and drift into sleep easily.
|||
"THIS IS THE ONE PUBLIC ROLL I HAVE TO DO HOW DID I FORGET TO DO IT-" d950, Roll: 850
Dream 17: The Masquerade.
"Where is your mask?" The woman asks you. Her mask is one of wraith oak and is formed in the caricature of a smiling jester, his grin twisted to horrific heights, almost reaching past his eyes. She wears a red dress that, er, you are not thinking too hard about that, dream or not.
"Everybody needs a mask here, lad!" An older gentleman says, his mask of a boar's heard, tusks exaggerated to the point of resembling ivory spears more than anything that would grow on a boar. "... You... do have a mask, yes?"
You look down at yourself, and, frickin' sweet-ass suit and black tie aside, no mask is forthcoming.
Swallowing, you admit this to the now gathering crowd, to gasps.
"Truly? Everybody needs a mask-" A younger man with what looks like some kind of mollusc on his face, tentacles wrapped around his neck. When it shivers, and his voice takes on a slightly raspier tone, you realise his mask is alive.
"Yes, yes, it's just the done thing, here-"
"Poor thing, everybody's going to know his face now-" A woman with a completely blank slate of a mask says, conforming perfectly to the sides of her head, granting the illusion that she has no face. It's so convincing that you almost believe she has no face.
"I mean..." You finally pipe up. "Where would I get a mask?"
"'Get a mask?' You don't just buy them, lad, you make one! People need to if they want to join the party!" Pighead explains.
You consider pointing out that at least one man is wearing a live octopus on his head but decide against it.
"... Well... do you have anything I could make one with?"
"Steady on." A man you suspect is part of a pair with another, considering his mask and the other man's somewhat match- a haphazard collection of cloth, white wood, metal, and the thick string holding it all together. The whole thing looks very… slapdash. "We did much the same thing, and we must say, the results are somewhat underwhelming, aren't they, Fred?"
"Yes they are, Sigmund, yes they are. Only went and skipped the process, didn't we?"
"That we did, friend. Mask, then Masquerade, then robbing and looting and shooting once anonymity is established, except we only went and buggered it up, so people know who we are and what we were planning to do, don't they?"
"Well I think we could have gotten away with it if you didn't announce our plans at every chance, but that's just me being an optimist I suppose."
"That you are, that you are! Wouldn't have you any other way, you ruddy beam of sunshine, you!"
You promptly ignore the failed larcenists as they devolve into sappy camaraderie.
"Then... what do I do?" You ask the few of the crowd who haven't moved away from the two men who just freely admitted to being ready to rob this place.
"Not much you can do, chap. Don't take it too hard, mind- it happens every year, and they do get out ok. Bit lonely, but you don't seem much the type for debauching anyway." Pighead tells you. "... Though... I thought you said you didn't have a mask?"
Eh? You frown, drawing some giggles from a group of harpies- comment on their disguises, nothing else- nearby.
"I... don't."
"Then what's that in your hands?"
You look down and see a mask in your hands. A mask you... certainly were not holding five seconds ago.
"... Well? Turn it over, let's see what you've got!" Jester Lady demands, intense curiosity in her voice. You do so and are greeted with a surprisingly... modern thing, for the decidedly unmodern ball.
It's white, and smooth, almost like the blank slate, but there are two things that separate it.
One, gold markings either painted on or set into the mask so seamlessly that you can't tell it's a separate thing, and two, a large...
Red...
Eye...
Something is clawing at the back of your mind. Something you realise isn't part of this scene.
"... You alright, mate?" One of the slapdash men asks you. You can't even tell them apart anymore. Everyone is... blurring together. Everything except the mask. It draws you in, at the expense of everything else.
"I don't think he's alright, Sigmund."
"Neither do I, Fred, but it's only polite to ask."
You stare at the glass eye, and it stares back, something flits through your mind, reminding you for just a moment of the Transistor's... creation.
You reach for it mentally and feel lightning behind your eyes.
LETUSOUTPLEASEITSDARKANDSCARYANDTHERE'SNOTHINGHEREPLEASEWEHAVEN'TDONEANYTHINGWRONGHELPUSHELPUSHELPUSLETUSOUTPLEASE
Your knees give out first.
YOUCAN'TLETUSOUTYETYOU'RENOTREADYPLEASEBEREADYSOON
You hear the other party guests gasp in horror, but you don't particularly care, on account of the tsunami of information forcing itself into your mind.
The moment you try to reach for it, though, it stops, removing itself from your mind as fast as it barged in.
The sudden reversal is the backbreaking straw, and you give yourself to the darkness at the edge of your vision.
"... You think he's got anything good on him?"
"Steady on."
You're close...
|||
You wake to a world that is far too bright for your liking. Quickly shoving your head under the covers, you grit your teeth as the migraine hits.
"Agh…"
{Jaune?}
"Gah, speech off! Text only!" You whisper-shout at Blue as his voice deafens you. A moment later, he joins Bracket in the corner of your eye reserved for system messages.
{Sorry. Are you ok?}
Medical scan in progress:
Symptoms present suggest migraine, but lack of nausea prevents certain judgement. Advise taking painkillers for now.
You groan a little at your friend's penchant for the obvious.
"That's a great idea, Bracket, except I kind of can't look at anything without feeling like my head's about to explode."
Even under the covers, with very little light around, your head's still pulsing. You know now what used to trigger your migraines, too much information being processed at once, so deprivation of the senses was all that really helped. This, though... this just feels like a normal migraine. You're still
miserable, but you can't actually deal with it how you used to.
Though... maybe that means you can deal with it how everyone else does?
{Do you want me to text one of your sisters to bring you some?}
... Can't hurt to try, you suppose.
A few minutes later, your door opens, and you hear the sound of a blister pack and a glass set down on your bedside table.
"Here. Take two, wait a couple hours, then take two more, even if it's let up." You hear Jaana whisper.
"Thank you."
"'S no problem. Get better soon, alright?"
You hear her leave before you can respond, and blindly paw for the tablets.
{Left. No, your other left. Ok, warm, hot, now you just skipped over them- there!}
Grabbing the pack in silent triumph, you pull it under the covers and pop two out, the sound absolutely deafening to you. Realising that your mouth is too much like parchment to attempt dry-swallowing them and that trying to bring a glass of water under the covers with you is a bad idea, you realise you're gonna have to leave your small blanket fort of darkness.
You place two of them on your tongue, the bitterness dulled by the sheer lack of moisture in your mouth, you grit your teeth and clench your eyes shut, which only makes the pain in your temples worse. You throw the blankets off and, realising being frantic isn't going to help, slowly,
painfully slowly, reach for the glass of water.
It tastes like nectar from the heavens, and soon it's drained completely.
Your trial finished, you sequester yourself back to the comfort of your quilt fort and wait for the medicine to perform its works.
{Any idea what caused it?}
"... I had a really weird dream."
{Another one?}
You tell them about your dream, about the masked people, about your own mask, and what you felt when you saw it, and by the time you finish stumbling through the story, you feel a little better. Not even metaphorically from getting the weight off your chest, you really do feel a little better. Better enough that you let Blue turn speech on again.
Those pills work pretty fast.
{... Hm.}
"Hm?"
{I'm... not sure. The masks and the party is probably just normal dream stuff, but the mask... I dunno. Bracket, anything?}
I place less stock in dream analysis than either of you. No feasible explanations found online that match the described imagery. Current hypothesis: completely fabricated by Jaune.
Hrm. Poking your head out from the covers, you find the morning light... annoyingly bright, but not cripplingly so.
You are officially a functioning human being again!
"Hey, what time is it, anyway?"
{8:00. Oh, yeah, you got the QA job, you start at 9:30, and they know about your condition, so we get to join you.}
Great!
... Wait where have you got to be by nine thirty-
A map appears in your vision, showing a place in the industrial district.
... FUCK-
|||
"Uh..."
You read the short woman's nametag- MAbel, mistyped capital A and all
- as she stares at the glowing blue sword behind you. The concerned sneer on her face shows off the braces across her teeth.
"... I-I'm sorry, I know you said in your email about your medical condition, and the steps you took to control it, but I-I just didn't expect...
that."
You give her as warm a smile as you're capable of.
Which, you will say, is pretty damn toasty. "Will it be a problem?"
Her eyes widen even further behind those bottle bottom glasses, and she quickly starts shaking his head.
"N-no! No, no, no, not at all! I just didn't expect something so... conspicuous." She finishes lamely, beginning to lead you along the corridor. You note that she has a very...
moist way of talking- you can actually
hear the saliva moving around your mouth and now you feel kind of ill. Dammit. "Though... if it's, not too rude to ask... what kind of problem needs... that, to fix it?"
You look at the pictures on the wall before you answer- nothing really related to the industry, landscapes, paintings of surprisingly hairy cows in rainbow colours, the only thing you can really say
is related to games is one of your guide herself with a medal around her neck, holding up a trophy for a... fairly big gaming event, actually.
"Uncontrolled Semblance." You hear her suck in a sharp
distressingly wet breath as you walk, and realise you may need to elaborate.
"Don't worry, it's a purely personal one. At best, I got really bad migraines, but I'm not gonna burn down your office or anything."
"... And... at worst?" She ventures, before snapping her eyes to the ground. "S-sorry, sorry, I shouldn't pry."
"Well, last time I actually tried to use my Semblance without my sword around, multiple consecutive aneurysms. Turned my brain to mush."
You get the feeling you might be oversharing a little, but at the same time, you find being blunt with people tends to get them away from the topic faster than keeping quiet about it, and means you don't have to tell them to drop the subject, either. It's a win-win!
{Non-confrontational wimp.}
Quiet, you.
"... O-oh. I'm, kind of sorry I asked, now." MAbel tells you.
"Well, now you know. So, what am I working on today?"
"Oh! Well, I don't think that's going to be much of a problem, huhu. Um, today, you're going to be working on a new platformer we're putting out- it's... simple enough. Er, you should have no problems with it- oh, can you read debug info, or will you need a quick rundown?"
"I'll manage."
{'Simple enough,' she says. Bracket, you got anything on this company?}
Hyper Arcade, company originally based in Mistral, moved to Vale once the Mistral council tightened up restrictions on crowdfunding, ruining their strategy of taking the money, running, and letting the outrage die down before their next big thing. Now they focus on mobile games and ports, with the occasional good project that, due to their reputation, usually suffers a crib death.
Oh. Wow.
{Well, she doesn't sound too happy about what they're doing
now if you ask me.}
Something occurs to you as you walk along, and you grab MAbel's attention.
"Er, as long as my, er, medication's not much more than a hundred metres from me, I should be fine, and I'd rather... not explain the giant glowing sword to more people than I already have to. Do you have a broom closet or something I can store it in before I meet everyone else, or...?"
For her part, she does consider the question seriously.
"... Nnnnn
o, I don't...
think so. At least, not any close enough for you to use it. Sorry. Just gonna have to take that bullet, I'm afraid." She looks at you apologetically as you sigh a little.
"It's fine, I'm used to it."
Dammit. If you get chased out of this job because you have to open-carry you're gonna be
pissed.
While you ponder on that possibility, you're led into an open-plan office, a few not-cubicles scattered about, some of which are occupied by men of varying stature and, er, physical health, and one other woman that you can see. Nobody else pays you much attention, preferring to keep an eye on their work until the Transistor floats around the corner.
That, uh. That gets their attention.
"Everybody!" MAbel calls out, grabbing the attention of those who haven't been enraptured by your sword yet. "This is Jaune, he's the one who applied for the QA position yesterday."
Nobody says anything, and you feel her enthusiasm become slightly more strained.
"... No interview?" A man on the, er, chubbier side of the spectrum asks MAbel.
"No other applicants."
"... Oh. Right." He mutters after a moment.
"Really?
Nobody else is going to ask?" A man with hair so blond it leans into silver yells, pointing at the Transistor as he does. "What the hell is
that?!"
"It's my migraine medication."
Your tour guide takes over, cutting you both off. "Jaune suffers from a medical condition that requires him to keep his weapon alongside him at all times. I won't go into details, and
none of you should pry. If he feels like telling you, I'm sure he will."
Despite her nasally, almost cottony voice, she does manage to get her point across in a way that shuts everyone up.
"Well..." A bull Faunus nearer you begins after a moment. "Welcome to the team! I'm Dandy, you've met Mabel, and, Basil and Vender, technically, but don't worry, you'll get to know us all pretty soon."
You smile, grateful for someone breaking the silence, and you're quickly led to your new workstation.
"Don't worry, they don't bite. We're just... a little stressed, is all." Mabel finishes somewhat lamely as you sit down, and she leans over your shoulder. "So, uh, just load up... ugh-" She stands back up, and shouts above your head to someone else. "Hey, Dandy, what's the newest version called?"
"Grimm underscore Run Beta 0.7.13! Hold on, he doesn't have a system account yet, does he? Hold on-" You watch as he takes a thumb drive and hurls it across the small office. Mabel snatches it out of the air in a surprisingly fluid motion and hands it to you.
She crumbles a little under the assault of your raised eyebrow.
"Uh, eheh, we, er, don't really trust centralised systems too much, after our last one was fried by a lightning storm, so... we back it up the old-fashioned way as well."
Quaint.
{... Add it to the list?}
Adding it to the list.
Wait, what list?
{List of stuff we're gonna fix here if we have any say in it.}
... You... don't know whether you should be concerned by that or not.
|||
You understood that QA testing wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Playing video games for a living? No, there are people who do that, and they usually scream at a camera while they do it. You understood that you would be logging bugs and whatnot, more than actually
playing the game. As the controls fail once more and you run straight into a tree branch once more, only to be greeted by a pithy death screen and an offer to buy powerups from a store that doesn't actually exist yet to help you get higher on a leaderboard that doesn't actually exist yet, you find it hard to even say you're
bored.
You're so incredibly
bored that you have
transcended bored. Perhaps if there was actually something of
substance to the game, maybe you would come back down to normal boredness, but no, this is just a...
technically functional mobile app, that, with some polish, could probably become a decent time killer.
As you log the 80th bug in an hour, alongside the suspected chunk of code causing it, courtesy of Bracket ripping the game open like a Christmas present, and suggest changes that would fix the problem, again, courtesy of Bracket running a second version of the game with your edited code, you realise it's gonna need a lot more polish.
This... will
not buff out.
{Think of the paycheck, Jaune. Just think of the paycheck.}
"So, how're you liking the 'game,' new guy?"
You look up and see the mop of silvery-blonde hair flop over your divider, covering a face that seems infinitely more natural when you mentally superimpose a sneer and an imperiously raised eyebrow onto it. A deceptively thin man, once you move past the baggy button up shirt and realise he doesn't even
begin to fill it out.
How much does he
eat?
... Right, yes, he's talking to you- what was his name, Basil?
{Basil.}
"Oh, hey Basil. It... needs some polish." You tell him diplomatically.
"What an odd way of calling my game a bug-laden, microtransaction-filled hellhole. Anything in particular that stands out? Let me guess, the animations don't work. Ooh, no, the controls are unresponsive! Or, no, wait, is it the fact that collision detection seems to be more of a suggestion than a hard rule?"
It occurs to you that he may be a little bitter about being stuck making mobile games for a living.
"... All of the above, in almost equal measure. Like, I'm sorry, but- this is beta material?" You ask him, trying to keep some of your doubts out of your voice.
"'Fraid so. I mean, it's not exactly the next Grimm Nights, anyway, so we can afford to go a little fast and loose with terms like 'alpha' and 'beta-' really, the quicker we can get it out, the better."
"Uh... huh."
You might actually believe that if he said it with even a hint of conviction, but that's not happening anytime soon.
"... Wait, what's all this?" Basil asks, pointing at the portion of the screen you've been keeping your bug logging on.
... And your updated code.
"Oh, uh, bug logs." You tell him, pointedly not bringing attention to the code suggestions. Blue told you that that's generally not kosher in the industry, development is for the developers, but that knowledge only made you want to ram your head through the cheap plaster wall even more, so needs must.
"... That... looks like code. Which is impressive, because I'm pretty sure this computer doesn't even have a code editor on it. Nor can I see one open."
And the lie dies a crib death.
"... Look, man, I know it's not exactly the done thing but I just saw every little thing that was going wrong and how it could be fixed and I just had to do something otherwise I was gonna go insane-" You start to babble, hoping your panic will appease him in some way.
"Hey, hey, chill. Less work for me is less work for me." He says, moving around your desk and crouching beside your chair, eyeing your work. "... This is... think you can integrate it?"
You blink, but wave your hand, shoving the second, improved iteration of the game from your sight and projecting it onto the white backboard of your desk via the Transistor. Basil jumps back slightly but sheer interest soon overcomes shock when he regains his balance.
Taking the virtual controller in your hands, you play through the game and find it's exactly that- a
game.
It's not a
good game. But it's not a
bad game either. It's just... a functional one.
And at the same time, seeing how much more responsive the controls are, the collision working to near realistic standards, you can't help but feel a little proud of your work. It's not much, but it's,
kinda yours.
You see Basil start to grin out of the corner of your eye.
"... Oh, you are going to be a
treat to work with."
|||
5:15 PM. Evening Slot.
You walked out of the office around 3 pm, with 3000 Lien more burning a hole in your back pocket, a promotion for your trouble, and some insight into the definition of insanity. On the train home, you wondered on that for a bit.
3000 Lien for six hours work? That's insane.
{We
did near-singlehandedly take their next project and make it an actual functional game. It really makes me wonder why they considered,
that, beta, though.}
Have to make ends meet. They've filed for bankruptcy more than once, and their public financial data says they're going to have to again if things don't improve. For good, probably. Note: timeline suggests the crowdfunding scams were used to pay off their bankruptcy, so they couldn't deliver on their promises, which led to having their products boycotted, which led to them declaring bankruptcy, repeat until the new laws came into effect.
{Yeah, I don't get that, none of them seemed like... you know... the kind of person who could pull that kind of thing. As in, none of them seems like the kind of person who
could pull off a crowdfunding scam, or any kind of confidence scheme for that matter. They're all too...}
Nerdy?
{Not where I was going with it, but yeah. Then again, we didn't meet everyone, so... ech. Leave it. We'll figure it out when we go back, anyway.}
Point.
You close the front door behind you, and are greeted by something you've never really paid attention to before, and have no reason to pay attention to now, but you do.
Beyond the door to the living room, above the fireplace, an ancient weapon resides, a light layer of dust laying upon it.
Crocea Mors.
{Yellow Death. What's eating you?}
You walk through to the living room, and find your mother curled up on the couch, reading a book.
Jill Arc is not a woman who looks natural curled up on a couch reading a book. No, she looks more at home making Grimm skewers with her spear alongside her husband. In general, you realise, she's not a woman who looks natural when
relaxed- even these days, where hunts are no longer a triweekly thing,, you know she checks around corners before turning them, making sure her line of sight is always the first thing to enter an area. When she looks like she feels safe, in her own home, it doesn't look...
right.
Like a painting that's been tilted ever so slightly off-kilter.
However, you're too occupied to really note any of that, more focused on the ancestral sword.
{... Jaune? Talk to us, man.}
Your mother's eyes flick up from her book as you stare at it.
"Hey, honey. How did work go?" She asks, snapping you out of your stupor.
"Oh, uh, fine." You tell her, turning around.
"I got a, uh, promotion, kinda."
She raises an eyebrow, a slight smirk taking her lips by surprise as she puts her book down, sitting up properly.
"A promotion? On the first day? I'm beginning to wonder if pushing you to do your best worked
too well."
"I mean, it's nothing major- I got bored just logging, so I opened up the code for the game and tried to figure out what was causing bugs, logged suggestions on how to fix them as well, someone saw it, told someone else, and now I'm in charge of actually debugging instead of just logging bugs."
"And I'm sure those words mean something to someone somewhere, dear."
You hum in agreement.
"...Lien for your thoughts?" Your mother asks after a moment, and you turn to look at her.
Oh. Right. Hunter mum. Kinda good at figuring out when things don't seem right.
Taking a deep breath, you try to figure out how to... well, one, puzzle out
what you're feeling right now, and how your great-great-grandfather's sword fits into it, two, figure out how to put that feeling into words, and three, tell all that to your mum.
Sitting on the couch, you think for a moment, while your mother patiently waits. She knows rushing you is an exercise in futility at the best of times.
You want to learn how to...
actually swordfight. Not, guided by AI, not messing with gravity, just... you, a sharp metal stick, and your own, admittedly currently meagre talents.
... Well, that's step two finished.
"I dunno, I'm just thinking... I should learn how to actually fight, with a sword and shield. I mean, what I've got is great, but right now, it's not... flexible. Not like, an actual sword is. It can't take the same kind of punishment, all I can do is dodge, and sometimes, that's just... not enough. I should know how to use a normal sword as well."
{... Are we taking that?}
We're taking that.
You mentally push away your digital peanut gallery. Normally, you don't mind their input, but right now, your own thoughts are distracting enough. You're not even sure what brought all this on, you just saw the sword above the mantlepiece and suddenly...
this.
"Do you want to learn?"
Wait what.
You look at your mother, making a sound of curiosity in lieu of an actual question.
"I mean, it's still light outside, and I'm not busy." She looks towards the sword and sheath-shield hanging on the wall. "Besides, I look at that sword pretty much every day, and it just... looks kind of sad, up there. It was never meant to be an ornament, you know? It was meant to be
used. So... how about it?"
After a moment to process what was being asked of you, you definitely didn't say no.
|||
"Crocea Mors is an arming sword, also known as a knightly sword, and as such is meant to be used with a shield, hence the sheathe's transforming functionality."
After being led outside after you put on your armour and your mum grabbed her own weapon, Crocea Mors in your hands, the Transistor following dutifully behind, you are subjected to a lecture on its specifications.
"For now, we'll focus on just the sword, to get you used to swinging something that doesn't casually act as a particle cannon."
You laugh a little at the honesty of her statement, unsheathing the simpler of your weapons. Well, the only weapon you have that needs unsheathing.
"First off, empty hand behind your back. If it's not got a shield or another weapon in it, it's a free target for an opponent."
Nodding, you lay your fist along the centre of your back, almost covering your kidneys and listen to her as she coaches you through stance, keeping the tip of the sword high, guarding the shoulder.
On guard.
"... Little sloppy, but better than when you started. Follow me." She instructs, and you break stance, sheathing your sword for the moment. Your mother leads you to the bottom of the garden, to the ancient oak tree stump that claims its residence in the bottom quarter of your garden, much to your father and at least three sister's constant discontent. It's a tall, gnarled thing, about the size of a large man, and about three times as wide around.
Taking her sword in hand, an odd thing, the blade slightly offset from the grip, more like an oversized bayonet than a proper sword, and before you can even blink, puts seven slashes into the wood and finishes with a final thrust into the centre of the dead tree. She moves away, letting you survey the damage.
"Would you like to guess what these are?" She asks you.
"... Angles of attack?" You venture, taking the size of the stump into account.
"Exactly!" She chirps, a wide smile on her face. You feel pride bloom in your chest, taking the small victory against ignorance well. "There are, against a human opponent, eight angles of attack- legs, gut, shoulders, head, and the thrust."
As she lists them off, she uses her own blade to point them out.
"Now, note I said
human opponent- obviously, the Grimm have more in common with animals than humans, but this is a good way to get used to swinging a sword, and working on keeping the blade from deflecting."
After some quick pointers on sword grip- majority of grip is done with first three fingers, ring and pinky should just wrap loosely around the hilt- and a quick run through on the motion of a sword strike, you take your first strike.
Swordsmanship roll, Instructor negates penalty, DC 9. Roll: 11. Success!
It's by no means a clean hit, or even a good swing- the sword shakes in your hand, the entire blade being moved instead of just the centre of gravity, but it bites into the wood at the left gut mark anyway, and you pull it free, the effort forcing you to take a step back.
... You... did it. You actually took a swing, and you
cut something. Granted, it's against a tree stump, but still!
Your mother smirks, walking away and leaning against the greenhouse, folding her arms.
"Again."
You strike again, going for the right shoulder, twisting your elbow to connect.
"Again!"
You thrust, Crocea Mors biting into the centre point and staying there until you pull it free.
"AGAIN!"
5+2 from Concordant Action (Coding Slice()) = 7 +8 = 15/21.
Skill Up! D => D+
|||
9:30 PM. Evening Slot.
you can't feel your arms anymore
holy shit your bones are jelly
for the second time in as many days
god why
{Yeah, shock's a bitch.}
That it is! That it
very much is. Your arms are still sore from the constant vibration sent through your bones from striking that damn oak stump over and over again. Your mother, while a good teacher, is a
relentless one.
Two. Hours. Of hitting that damn stump.
Gently flexing your arms to try and work the worst of the shock out, you wonder what to do with the rest of your night.
{So, what's happening tonight?}
Coding?
{Coding.}
Slice() Coding- 92+50 from static progress bonus, +8 from Concordant Action (Swordsmanship Training) = 150 + 850 = 1000/1500.
Ok! We are out of day-to-day hell, and in to week-to-week hell! So, here's how this is going to work, because 6.4k words every week really doesn't work for me. Barring special events, and scenes that won't leave me alone, but that's a given at this point, this is a numbers game now.
Uh... fuck it, pick seven, max three of each, and I'll deal with the math later. Assume they're spread out among the week, so you're not actually spending a full 16 hour day whacking a tree.
[] Socialise- Now that you have new friends you don't have to live with, it's time to get used to the task of maintaining those friendships. (Can only be picked once more this week if you wish to avoid guaranteed burnout)
-[] Lumen- he seems like a bro. The kind of person you can joke about stupid shit with and just, generally a chill guy.
-[] Creme- sure, she seems a little high-strung at times, but she's nice enough, and you think she could do with the company.
-[] Ada-... You don't even know where to begin with her, but she genuinely seems like she could just use a friend.
-[] Why Choose- fuck it, invite the whole gang out! You're not gonna get any heart to hearts, but friends are friends are friends. Bond as a group.
[] Train- Swordsmanship, Gunmanship, Athletics, all kinds of things need training if you're gonna be an effective Huntsman. Pick a skill you have and you'll train it as best you can for a while.
-[] Which one, if any?
-[] Swordsmanship (Next Boon at C: Style Choice)
[] Code- You are the hermit, destroyer of social lives. Well, your social life, anyway. Coop yourself up, and work on a new Function.
-[] Code a Function. (Pick from the Alpha or Beta categories.)
-[] Create a new Function. (Pick From Suggested Functions category. Or, suggest a Function and get people to vote for it.)
[] Go Into Town- Oh hell yeah, time to paint this motherfucker red! Or, just wander about town, maybe find a bookshop or something, ooh, that cafe you heard about sounds nice... (5k Lien minimum to make Jaune think it's worth going into town. You have 8.7k, and therefore can.) (Roll D20 + 2D6.)
Job Get! Chief Debugger at Hyper Arcade Studios! (Job locked in, storyline now open)
[] Acquire Moolah- You may not have bills, but some extra dosh never killed a man. At least, the man making it. Take one of the jobs you've found. {Ahem.}
-[] Hyper Arcade- Go hang out with the shadiest buncha confidence trick scamming crooks, and MAbel, and code mobile games for a living. (3000 Lien per day timeslot = 9000 Lien per week timeslot)
-[] Spreadsheet Software Training Course- Set up a document or powerpoint that can be used by a company to train their employees to use spreadsheet software. (2500 Lien, one day only)
-[] Logo Animation- Animate an already existing logo. Note: You have no idea how to animate stuff. (4000 Lien, D20 roll.)
-[] Software installation- go to a place and install the latest SDC OS on the network, while preserving files and such for transferral. This actually requires leaving your hermit hole. (8000 Lien- timeslot can no longer be spread across several days.)
