The pink petals fall to the concrete off the trees from where they came that hold themselves up high towards the sky above. Indeed this land is protected by very powerful, and reputable spirits such is the way of any proud nation. The bustling streets of Hiroyuki town are held with a high regard to the nation of Japan, such a township is responsible for providing some of the world's strongest martial artists. Those of whom have gone on to win world championship martial arts tournaments, or have settled down in their home area to become humble teachers, monks, and other sorts of occupations.
Indeed, this land is reputable for the strength of it's fighters that it seems to constantly produce. There is one such filter in this land that turns boys and girls, into men and women however.
強力な守護者! Or as it's known to foreigners worldwide, POWERFUL GUARDIAN HIGH! It is the sole landmark of this esteemed village that separates the lions from the cattle. Appearing as just an ordinary high school on the surface, it's deep underground in it's infamous fighting arena that students compete to be crowned 'The Ultimate Power' of their class. Many brutal and prolonged battles have occurred in this ring, the very name alone sends the uninitiated into shivers upon hearing it.
You are an exchange student coming from the bustling city of Tokyo, your father, a salaryman, was moved to this humble town and charged with the leadership role by the company he works for to help develop their new HQ here.
As your father drives yourself, and your mother through the quiet streets of your new home, you think upon your own character. Who you were back home has no meaning to you anymore, you have begun blossoming into a teenager as of late and are beginning to find old things you once held likeness to no longer appeal to you anymore. It has left you thinking.. just who are you?
Your new bedroom is massive, bigger than your entire old apartment. The bed is huge, draped with thick blankets that look like they’ve never been touched. At the foot of the bed, there’s a big chest, perfect for storing your personal items. Heavy, dark curtains block out most of the sunlight, and the air feels stale and musty, as if the room hasn’t been aired in years. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, glinting faintly in the low light.
You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at your reflection in the mirror across the room. You’ve heard about boys who complain about being stuck in the friend zone, but for you, that sounds like paradise. You’ve never even been close to that. Girls just insult you, call you ugly, and laugh when you try to talk.
You hear footsteps behind you, and your stepmother pushes open the door without knocking. She’s wearing a black tailored dress, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. She doesn’t bother to hide the disdain in her eyes as she looks you up and down.
"Still sitting around? Unpacking would be a good start," she says, her tone sharp. "You should be grateful you're even allowed to live here." You nod, not wanting to provoke her. She lingers for a moment longer, clearly about to say something else, then just shakes her head and walks away, muttering something under her breath.
You slump back onto the bed. This mansion is supposed to be a new beginning, but it feels more like a prison. After your father’s sudden death, your stepmother quickly abandoned the small apartment she hated and moved into his family’s mansion, claiming she deserves better. Now you’re stuck here with her and your stepsister in a city you don’t know. Your father had cut ties with his wealthy family years ago, and you grew up poor. Now, trapped in this mansion, surrounded by old money and family secrets, you feel like an intruder.
A faint buzz disrupts your thoughts. You check your phone to find a message from one of your old classmates. "Heard you finally moved out. Good riddance, loser." You don’t respond. You’re used to this by now, the kind of cruelty that never stopped back in school. For now, you unpack your suitcase, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.
You are a DRAKEHEAD SKELETAL CHARYBDIS - a person reincarnated as a monster in the fantasy world of ALTERORBIS.
You have wandered the lands, completing quests and fighting both mighty and weak foes, levelling up and evolving into a greater being.
In more detail, in the previous thread you: >helped protect a bone scout expedition while they looted a fortress >almost got betrayed by the same bone scouts afterwards but convinced them to uphold their end of the deal - granting you the ability to speak >found a sacred spring in a forest and almost got killed by the local elf woman >died to a swarm of undead bees and accepted a quest from the gods to kill a Marebito - another reincarnator - in exchange for less severe penalties from respawning >got the reward for dealing with the Mad Wizard a while ago - an Epic armour from Arthur the Reaper's stash >travelled through the Cursed Bog under the guidance of Arta - a woman addicted to local fruit that shortens the lifespan >delivered the Witch's Hat that you found a while ago to Lily Arante - a witch living at the centre of the Bog >learned about a scholar from the Riverlands that may know how to deal with the cheat skills of the Marebito you're meant to kill >convinced the witch to join you in your travels in a couple weeks >dealt with a Dead Eater ambush >recovered some of your memories at a shrine and found the Ruined City of Luce >killed the twin wyrms in the Dragon Cemetery, obtaining [Wyrmscale] >negotiated with a village by the mountains to kill a roc terrorizing an area nearby >died to said roc and faced the full penalties of resurrection >travelled through the Mountains of Doom and found Sirens' Home >killed a few sirens to complete the quest and found their artifact under a waterfall >evolved into a Drakehead Skeletal Charybdis
Currently, you are in a cave in the mountains. Having just evolved, you have unlocked the ability to claim a NAME for yourself.
Your name is Shelly Suzume. A member of the White Fang. You didn’t start out this way, and you certainly never expected to join them, but at least it’s temporary. Probably. Then again, you did receive an offer to lead one of its branches. The idea is… enticing, but it’s something you still need to think about, especially since that branch happens to be in one of the scummiest places imaginable.
Speaking of scum, you just witnessed one of the most… interesting meetings you’ve ever attended. You saw most of Kuchinashi’s underworld big shots with your own eyes. Then again, at this point, the entire city is the underworld. You probably left a good impression on them. Maybe.
Your boss, Taylor, just allied himself with the Black Sheep. That doesn’t exactly sit well with you, but, well… politics aren’t really your thing. Or at least, you haven’t had much reason to deal with them, yet. If you accept Taylor’s offer, that might change.
Oh! And also. You infiltrated a Black Sheep’s underground weird warehouse-gallery-tunnel thing. Nothing too bad here. Just a few bodies here and there. Poor souls, victims of… something.
And to top it all off with a golden brooch, you accidentally ran into (most likely) the two most dangerous people in all of Kuchinashi. Maybe even Mistral. Just skulking around, exploring the same warehouses as you.
Hello, I need help. I've seen many STL file sites, but they're paid. I don't have the money to pay 15-20-30 or more for a one-time print. Does anyone have a site where I can download these paid STL files for free?
This world is burned, scorched to ash in the fire of a cataclysm so destructive that the destruction it wrought is layered into the creation stories of irradiated tribals huddled around campfires. Few are alive, alive in the biological sense that is, who are even aware of that once upon a time green paradise who's ashes blow in the rust flecked wind. The carcasses of ancient terraforming jut half buried from the shifting dunes of the Scorch like the exposed bones of ancient leviathans. The skeletal remains of the once thriving megacities are silent save for the howling wind and the bowls of mutants driven insane by the tumors crawling through the black matter of their brains. Scuttling machines, semi sentient and feral, prowl the wastes, following the synthetic instincts imprinted upon them in centuries past. Whispers of machine intelligences drift in the wind, carried on radio and electromagnetic waves that crackle and hiss in the radiation laced air, buzzing through jury rigged comm relays and sending a shiver down the spines of superstitious scrappers. Tech Nomads ply the endless deserts of the Salt Wastes, scouring any and everything for salvage to repair their precious Clan Walkers, shamanistic trinkets dangling from the metallic hides of multi legged walkers housing entire clans. Tech Hunters carve and raze and burn, slashing away the weakness of their flesh and grafting stolen metal to a chorus of barbaric chants while empty eyed slaves break their backs in mining pits that send rad-counters into screaming fits of despair.
This world is dead but yet somehow it still lives. The seas may have boiled away into brine sludge, the forests may have been reduced to endless plains of charcoal, the flora and fauna may have been warped and twisted into nightmare versions of evolutions original idea but the world still lives. Humanity still lives.
Humanity gave self immolation its best shot but somehow crawled through the inferno to emerge into the Wasteland blinking at a world that was forever, irreparably changed. This world is harsh. It is cruel. Every day a thousand stories are cut short in heaving, slashing melees, in desperate skirmishes in the bowels of forgotten manufactorums, in sickbeds that stink of clotted blood and filth. This world tests those who burned its hide raw and blotted out the very sun with ash of apocalyptic fire but every day there are those who pass the tests. Those who drag themselves from ruin and death and carve out a new story in the sands of the Wasteland.
>be me >hear about the Gilbert Goons >curious and find Tristan Billey's father's phone number publicly on his realtor website >kek calls with the boys >he fucking answers its really him >turns out its his personal number >he makes a threat confirming my suspicions that his son is 100% guilty of murder. >hang up with the biggest rush >wanna post a screenshot of the website so people can fuck with him for covering up a murder >find out its completely legal because he posted it on a public forum anyways >have fun boys
Individuals worldwide began manifesting the qualities of various figures- gods, spirits, heroes, beasts, and monsters- from Greek mythos. The system that caused and continues to facilitate this phenomenon is shrouded in mystery, both in how it functions and why it began its activities when it did.
The protagonist of this tale is the incarnation of Atë, a minor goddess in the grand scheme of Greek mythology, who causes and presides over folly and ruin. She, formerly a miserable but ultimately normal office worker, has since accepted her role as the embodiment of her . She, along with her partner in crime, the incarnation of Pheme, titan of rumors and gossip, have been working to expand their influence and stack the deck in their favor against not only mortals, but also rival incarnations. In her own eyes, she is no longer human. Her ultimate goal– the elimination of all rival incarnations and, eventually, ascension to true godhood.
Having clawed her way back from the parallel plane stronger and more spiteful than ever, Atë finds herself (literally) of two minds, having split her consciousness in half in order to accomplish multiple tasks at once. One side of her, inhabiting her true body, finds herself waging war against the Penitent once again, too affected by the memories of her alternate self to focus properly without clearing her head. The other side attempts to dig up her own past, reopening old wounds in order to tap into the wrath pouring from her own bleeding soul.
Last time, you went to sleep. On your couch. For no reason. <span class="mu-i">No reason at all</span>…
It’s the 2nd of July, Sunday, you might have the day’s number mixed up, but you’re pretty sure it’s the end of the weekend. And what a weekend it was! You did so many things that it’s impossible to write them down without sounding like you’re bragging. So, you’re not going to try! Instead, you will wonder how you found yourself in your bed. You were on the couch. What happened? Was it all a dream? Of course, it wasn’t. But after falling asleep, someone must’ve moved you here and moved *someone else* from here. You’ll blame your Bestie for both. She’s nowhere to be found.
You step out of your room to find the Criminal back at the scene of the crime. Crossbill has made your couch home, legs crossed watching TV, with a cup of coffee in hand…
She notices you and tilts her head back. She smiles.
“Mornin’, Bestie. Breakfast is over there!” Crossbill points at the table and winks. Just toast and coffee for you. “We gotta start workin’ on our little heist as soon as we can.”
“I didn’t know Crossbills were early birds.” You raise an eyebrow as you make your way to the table.
“Aren’t all birds ‘early birds’?” Crossbill gets sassy.
“Not sure if a dodo was one.” You think Matilda would hate them.
“Those are extinct, Knockout. And for good reasons.” Crossbill deadpans.
“Good reasons? Evolution means that you thrive in your environment, not that you’re the superior species. A koala would probably thrive in this country, but that doesn’t make it *the* apex predator.” You point out. Unless it’s a Drop Bear, those are fierce!
“Johnny, we have animals taller than half of the buildings in this city. Koalas are screwed!” Crossbill argues.
“You don’t know that.” You act offended.
“I know that, Knockout, I led the Environmental Council in Congress. One escaped the zoo, and we got a presentation.” Crossbill crosses her arms, all smug.
“But they’re crafty animals!” You believe despite your Knowledge’s protests.
“Do you have any idea what a Koala is?” Crossbill is scared.
“Sorry, my sister is a Propaganda Machine for bears…” You blame Amelia.
“They’re not bears.” Crossbill corrects you.
“B-But they’re called <span class="mu-i">Koala Bears</span>!” You can’t believe this.
“Doesn’t make them bears.” Crossbill shakes her head.
“Even the murderous <span class="mu-i">Drop Bear</span>?” Your Knowledge forces you to shatter all your dreams.
“Those are a myth to scare tourists, Knockout. There are no killer koalas.” Crossbill continues shaking her head.
“Damn, this is some heavy stuff…” You munch your toast as you live in a new reality, one where the only way the Drop Bear exists is as an entity.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Crossbill continues shaking her head. “Wait, you have a sister? I forgot you mentioned her.”
“A *liar* sister.” You correct.
“Sure she is.” Crossbill will hate her too. What a bestie! “Ready for the first step?”
The cinders of <span class="mu-s">Arkanar</span>'s civil war were never truly frozen, they smoldered beneath a treaty paper sealed with blood. Now stoked by radical ideals, political ambitions, and old grudges, the flames of war blaze anew.
For years, the northern <span class="mu-s">Free Republic</span> covertly rallied armies and amassed resources in preparation for a war that could span generations. This was no desperate rebellion of defiant guerrillas from decades past, but a well-organized military campaign that will unify the fractured land of Arkanar and purge the existence of the <span class="mu-s">Imperial State</span> to the south.
The Imperial military, having grown complacent after their previous victories over the Free Republic and the years of peace that followed, have been caught unprepared. Spread thin over the demarcation line, the Imperials struggle to mount a coherent defense against the northern invasion. For every piece of land lost, their morale is chipped away, turning past triumphs into distant memories.
To prevent a wider regional collapse, the IUN has called for intervention through the deployment of an Osean and Erusean-led multinational task force, to assist the Imperial State of Arkanar in achieving a swift end to the war with the hopes of containing the conflict from spilling beyond Arkanar's borders before it can become a continental catastrophe.
You are Captain <span class="mu-s">Adele "Chaos" Farrington</span>, a Erusean Navy pilot and veteran of the Lighthouse War. Stationed aboard the IUN Peacekeeping Force submersible aviation cruiser OFS *Nautilus*, you serve as the flight lead of its premier fighter unit, the <span class="mu-s">Fairy Squadron</span>.
The skies await for your sortie, <span class="mu-s">Fairy 1</span>.
