REAPING SEASON I: STIFLING THE STORM
"Ruffians ambush lone passerbys on the road, stealing food or gold from them at the threat of violence. They're not particularly well-armed, and some of the locals would prefer that they not be killed just because they're idiots."
"Ruffians ambush lone passerbys on the road, stealing food or gold from them at the threat of violence. They're not particularly well-armed, and some of the locals would prefer that they not be killed just because they're idiots."
Y'know, this whole idea? Fucking brilliant. Who the hell didn't want to risk their physical well-being? Could one say they were truly living until they decided to enter a virtual world where one could get sealed away for years and years? Red, flashing warning lights and wailing sirens be damned. Yeah, so, sarcasm aside: this was an absolutely fucked plan that threatened to destroy everything she exhaustingly accomplished in a little place called "reality".
Narrowed eyes began to see double the longer she stared at her character sheet. The layout was reminiscent of those ancient tabletop roleplaying games she used to play in her youth. Technological optimization replaced the archaic method of pencil and paper. Unfortunately, despite the mechanical ease that mitigated impatience, the system still wreaked havoc on her indecisive mind. Gathered intel suggested every decision would be the "set-in-stone" type of permanent. Haste made waste which was apparently as she struggled to remember what could be changed once in-game.
Eh, there was only one surefire way to find out and that was to get into the game. Which meant it was time to speedrun this shit.
Her tongue clicked, a loud tsk hissing from her lips, as she examined her replica. It was super freaky seeing an exact duplicate of herself. "Ew. I look like shit without my glasses." Yeah, no - she needed some customization up in here. Pronto. Video games were meant to provide an escape through character selection rather than a reminder of the outside world.
"Yeah, sure, I'll play a basic ass human." Couldn't go wrong with the classics, right? The passive traits certainly piqued her interest. Lady Luck loved her so "fate dice" seemed to be the way to go. Yes, a nice jumpstart on life in-game would be perfect-
She rolled a one. Snorting, she pressed the trait screen to reroll. Starting from scratch was fun except when it implied an absolutely dog-water beginning. However, the system merely screamed at her when she tried to reroll. Something about an entire month cooldown before she could roll again. Eh, that'd be fine. It probably wouldn't cause too many problems.
Despite the situation, excitement bubbled in her stomach as she pressed "accept". She marveled at her new skin as she melded into her creation. Cool. A brief thought before the game kicked her down from cloud nine. Literally. The fluffy, white clouds dissipated from beneath her feet and she began her rapid descent. Fire lit her aflame like a falling comet. She must look absolutely wicked.
A wide grin lit up her eyes as she fell from the heavens like a fallen angel. A smile that wavered when she realized she wasn't slowing down. Rather, the exact opposite occurred: she only increased in velocity the further she fell. Shit. Hands grasped her flimsy starting polearm. This was either going to be epic or a dismal disaster. Time to find out.
Summoned wind caused her to spiral into a "controlled" dive. Controlled being used very, very loosely. Her spear pierced the ground and allowed her to vault like a skilled acrobatic. Or so she envisioned it would go. Instead, the pole awkwardly bent (the sound of wood splintering causing a brief moment of panic) before snapping backward, sending the new star called to land on her back.
Yikes.
Well, she didn't die so at least the stunt wasn't nearly as embarrassing as it could have been. She groaned as she rolled onto her stomach, a hand pressing against her aching back. Ow. Owowow. A group of NPCs emerged from the forest and caused her cheeks to burn brightly. Shit, people witnessed her disastrous arrival. Their vibrantly red names immediately grabbed her attention. That didn't bode well. Red usually meant "enemy".
And enemies they were. Ruffians, to be exact. Before she could regain her senses, the group ambushed her and stripped her of any starting money and armor she possessed. In a blink of an eye, she lost what little she started with (excluding her flimsy pole that remained thoroughly wedged into the ground). A net tossed limply on her distracted the stunned woman long enough for the ruffians to make a quick getaway. By the time she freed herself, they were nowhere to be seen.
Overhead, a small dice displaying her original fate role mocked her. Perhaps she should have actually read the consequences of rolling poorly on her racial trait. Finally, she managed to untangle herself and hop to her feet. "Oi! Get back here!"
