Genre: Low Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Action THEME: War, Monster, Incest, Death
Once upon a time, in a dark chamber of a filthy dungeon, there lived an abomination born among humans – you!
Your first home was a parish in a small village, where you and the old priest took care of each other. There was also a woman who visited the chapel frequently, bringing things for you.
But some accidents in your youth culminated in your expulsion and made the old mausoleum in the Zold Viz swamp your new home. You can’t leave the ruins, and you survive like an underground animal.
>++++suffering
Sometimes, humans pass by in search of treasures, and you let them venture further into the dungeon, only for them to be killed in the next rooms. When they stubbornly challenge you, they are also injured and killed. What else could you do?
Aside from that, you don't get many visitors, but goblins and kobolds speak to you and feed you in exchange for favors.
It’s been 10 years here, and you feel that:
>my life is shit (++hatred) >I’ve gotten used to it (++stoicism) >it’s just a bad moment (+hope +brightness)
You are Kuroda Haruka and <span class="mu-r">King Lot of Lothian, Orkney and Camelot.</span>
The day is not quite over yet. You long to hide in your room and try to decompress but keeping a hold on your vassals requires a King to attend to their duties diligently.
Today in the darkest hours before dawn you were forced to fight off a Wyvern who decided to dine on two of your vassals. You went to their rescue with a cohort of Baphomets and dived straight into a terrible situation. Three deadly enemies trapped in an abandoned manor.
The Wyvern who ate your two vassals. The fear illusion plant who trapped you. A Knight of the Round Table who Dueled you.
The night left a mark on you. For you were killed in a Duel by GARETH, KITCHEN KNIGHT. If it wasn't for the Blessings of Avalon, you would have stayed dead. By the skin of your teeth, you survived and rescued the Baphomets still alive.
The last of the Emperor’s children has died. He has no heir, an aging wife, and failing health. From his bed, which he finds harder and harder to leave each day, he orders the main family of every royal house to send forth a Champion to court to decide the future of the Empire.
You are the champion for [Pick 1], in your early childhood you warded with [Pick 1]: >Nethos, Clan Gerrard: Located in the Northwest in a mountainous region, the Nethons enjoy immense mineral wealth. Nethos is also unique because it is not organized as a kingdom, but instead as a sort of confederacy of mountain clans, where a new presiding family is chosen by sending champions to compete in a contest of the three sacred Nethon arts: Blacksmithing, Brewing, and Brawling. [Aspect: Competitor]
>Pan, House Goinsy: A modest kingdom east of Nethos and North of the capital. Lacking any real geographic or resource advantage, Pan has maintained its relevance through a focus on military discipline and strategy. Panese knights are considered the best in the Empire, with the exception of the Imperial knights (although many Imperial Knights are Panese in origin). Pan has a strict, militaristic culture. Many royal families ward their children in Pan to learn skill at arms. [Aspect: Chivalrous]
>Winterlands, House Reid: The Northernmost Kingdom, located in the cold tundras at the Northeastern end of the continent. Inhabitants of the winterlands are stereotyped to be gruff, independent, and self-reliant. The Winterlands cares little for diplomacy or currying favor at Court. They frequently find themselves in border disputes with their neighbors. Due to the lack of farmland in the Northern part of their territory, they cling tightly to the southern sections, and will fight fiercely to maintain their territorial integrity. [Aspect: Tough-as-Nails]
>Free Chalmuth, House Kabot: The youngest of all the kingdoms, located at an island west of the continent proper. Formerly a part of Ellia’s territory, but when the Fellants refused the island's call for troops to deal with rampant piracy, an uprising took place and the Chalmuthians refused to pay any taxes to either Ellia or the Emperor. The Emperor sided with the Chalmuthians, helped broker a peace with Captain Kabot, which involved installing the Pirate Captain as the new king of the island. [Aspect: Swashbuckler]
>Kingdom of Ellia, House Fellant: The largest and most prosperous of the houses outside of the Imperial family itself. Ellia has vast, lush farmland, sea access, and ample mineral wealth. Its capital is located directly west of the Imperial capital. Including maritime borders, it borders seven other kingdoms. Many have speculated that the Fellants aspire to secede from the Empire, or usurp it. Ellians despise Varyne and Chalmuth, feeling that their territory was wrongfully taken from them. [Aspect: Prestigious]
It’s the 765th year of the Empress’ Calendar. And in a small, remote village in the Threshold, the most honorable guardians of the Realm and the fist of the Empress, the Black Helms, are dispensing justice for the most foul crime of loitering. This disruption of the peace was brough about when an ordinary street performance turned into a majestic display of dance that could put the most famous artisan troupes of the Blessed Isle to shame. Those who bore witness to this glorious show of skill fell under its thrall and a dance fever broke out in the crowd like a plague. Anyone who looked at it for too long was susceptible to joining the crowd of dancers himself. When one of the Black Helms themselves fell under the spells effect the rest of the guards were left with no choice but to intervene and put a stop to the festivities by force.
But Mnemon Jet knew little of that. All he knew is that he made a wonderful performance that brought a little joy into the lives of the people in the city and now they are tarnishing his work. Not only that they wer behaving in a manner more fit for barbarians, not those representing the Empress' Justice. He felt rage swelling within him, and the desire to make these ingrates repent. "By the dragons, what am I thinking?"
"Those people were singing your glory and danced in your name. Their adoration was yours, and they took it. It's only natural to want to punish them." The demon, Markolab, spoke in his mind, egging him on to act.
"No. This is insane. Clearly my mind is being affected. I can't afford to bring attention to my presence any more than I already have. I need to regroup with Kaya and Ena."
"Who says it's "you" who is to bring attention to himself?"
Jet paused in his stride. Then he took a sharp turn and headed into an alleyway that the crowd already ran out of. Finding a secluded spot he concentrated on the image of a person who does not exist. A man slightly taller, more muscular and more rough looking than him, with a prominent scar over his eye. As soon as the image was clear his shadow bubbled like it was about to boil over, then it sprung on him like a living thing and wrapped him in a tender penumbra of inky blackness. A few moments later his shadow became quiescent once more and his shape was changed to that of the man he imagined. "How do I look?" Even his voice was much deeper than before.
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 <Myth>. 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, complete and total world domination.
Atë, faced with the looming threat of the enemies she's created over the course of her journey, including the relentless Diomedes and the terrifying might of Heracles, has decided it necessarily to understand just how exactly the source of her power works. In traversing the depths of souls, has come to realize the complexities and anomalies within the realm beneath that defy comprehension.
Right now, she has come to a shocking revelation; the psychopathic, almost inhuman pain goddess Dorota has found a way to peer into the depths of her soul. She has determined to get to the bottom of her supposed servant's intentions by any means necessary.
The Brotherhood of Steel, a bastion dug into the sands of what was once California, an order of martial might and scientific brilliance. Since its founding after nuclear Armageddon its members have walked the wastes, their mission one of honor. Their deeds brought themselves glory, and a semblance of hope to the communities struggling to rise from the ashes of annihilation. But eventually this time of action faded, worry and doubt closing the Brotherhood from the rebuilt civilization. But in a time of great peril, where the threat of Unity and the super mutant stalked the land, it seemed that the wastes would bring one to revitalize the reclusive Brotherhood. Unfortunately this new initiate was of cold heart and bloody hands. Greedily he took the Brotherhoods’ finest arms and armor, and murdered one of the Chapter’s finest. The response was immediate, plotting elders and muttering paladins acted upon the attack, fanning a flame of vengeance in the hearts of the Brotherhood. The High Elder stepped down from his position, partly from the insistence of council, and mostly from his own doubt for placing his trust within the barbarous initiate. The council wasted no time, placing one of their most zealous into the position of High Elder as they solidified the position as supreme over the entire Brotherhood. High Elder Lamech heralded the Brotherhood’s transformation into the Steel Plague, and he set its soldiers out across the wastes to pilfer weapons and equipment from the scattered super mutant army. Finally he leveled the Plague’s awesome arsenal against the newly formed New California Republic, determined to smother the young nation for both mimicking the nation the venerable founder renounced and being helper to the vile initiate. However, Lamech’s identity as the face of the Plague has been his undoing. Prototype implants, slotted by the dozens into his body and mind to create a warrior worthy of the title of High Elder, have rendered him crippled with the disorder of epilepsy. He sits across from you now, staring at you with a slight grimace in spite of the cloth blindfold wrapped around his head. The hooded figures of the Elders face you as well, all attention turned to the subject of the conference. You have been given the honor of ascending to the position of High Elder…
>Elder: Another member of the Plague’s upper hierarchy, you are experienced in the power of command and your ascension is unsurprising. +5 leadership and knowledge rolls. >Paladin: One of the Plague’s greatest warriors, you are the apex of the Plague’s martial might and your ascension is typical. +5 combat and leadership rolls. >Scribe: The lore keepers and scientists of the Plague. There is little in the wastes that can match your knowledge, but your ascension is unprecedented within the Order’s history. +5 knowledge and technology rolls.
Last time, you were too tired during your preparations for the prison break. How tired? You can’t move, only your face kind of works, everything else is impossible to do. You can’t even adjust your glasses. It became painfully obvious you couldn’t stay like this, so you, Scarlet, Suan De, and the Buffalo went to visit Giorsal to find a way to charge your batteries. You expected Gio’s version of the Magic Marshmallows, but you got sucked into a healing plant instead, a big fat plant. You’re the ugliest sunflower in the world. With nothing better to do, you all are talking about what happened in the Bubble Dimension.
Thanks to the Esperanza tournament Fiora’s name was brought up, this shocked the flat judge as she once had an ill encounter with her, where she respectfully asked her to leave the premises. Now she feels like a fool, the witch only wanted to stop the white flames, and she was asked to leave. Makes you wonder if this is the reason Fiora felt forced to require your assistance, or if she planned to bring everyone together, like a team of sorts, for a mission, like busting out of prison. You’re trying to say that you don’t appreciate how Fiora is cramping your style.
Well, after Giorsal confessed to being a big distrustful dummy, she was bullied appropriately for several minutes, which gave enough time for this to happen:
“Johnny! Aurora!” Giorsal interrupts the relentless bullying from the heartless bubble-being known as Bubbles. She set up a timer on her phone and it’s ringing! “I believe the treatment is over.”
“Make sure we aren’t carelessly spat out, plea—” You say before being carelessly spat out. At least Rora landed on top of you to soften her fall, then rolled to your side.
“S-Sorry, I haven’t figured out all the quirks with them!” It was never Giorsal’s intention for this to happen.
“How are you feeling?” Scarlet comes closer to check on you.
“I feel pain again!” You give her a thumbs up. Your body feels normal, not like new, but you can’t complain. Wait. You can complain. But should you? Not for now.
“Is that good?” The redhead doesn’t know what to make of this.
“That’s an improvement.” Suan De doesn’t have doubts.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I think.” Maybe you should do something with your body to dispel any doubts.
<span class="mu-s">What do you do?</span>
>Prove your body feels fine by picking up Giorsal in the air. >Prove your body feels fine by Moonwalking. Girls love moonwalking. >Recruit Rora. She was bound to join before the Prison Break was even a thing. >Thank Giorsal for help, and return to the base. You have a plan to plan. >Write In.
You are Lorina de Lindan, princess, weapon-autist, inquisitor-in-training, and recently the victim of a large political conspiracy led by someone you don’t know, for unknown reasons, and with unclear goals. Honestly, you probably should have expected something like this would happen after joining a secretive society, the Inquisition to be exact, whose been tasked with the handling of Strangers, dangerous people from a dimension known as “Earth” before their Cheat Skills wreak untold havoc across your kingdom.
Recently, you’ve returned to the Royal Capital after being attacked by a suicidal(?) thug only to be greeted with a city on lockdown as anti-noble arsonists have attacked many estates, including your families. You were then unceremoniously grounded by your father and forbidden from associating with the Inquisition after a startling revelation leaving you to do the only logical thing you could, run away with a maid. Now, you’ve managed to sneak back into the city with your fellow inquisitor-in-training Marie Sarodieu, formerly known as Midori Suzuki, to investigate on your own terms.
A wolf, a crow and a man stand in a half-finished ring of timbers. Snow lies heavy upon the ground and drifts in the grey air, crowning the pillars that bend toward one another in towering arches. The crow hops from foot to foot, large enough to carry off deer should it wish to, an agitated look in its yellow eyes as both man and wolf glare daggers at it, the pair blaming the scavenging instigator of strife for their argument.
The man stands tall, clothed in furs and hides against the winter chill. His best years are behind him and his dark hair has begun to lose the vibrancy of youth. His eyes are pale and sightless, blinded by hubris years ago, but his back remains straight , for all he leans more heavily on his staff these days. His fingers may ache in the cold more than they used to, but he flexes them as if he wishes to wrap them around someone's neck, or snatch the stone knife from its sheath at his belt and let it taste blood. The shift of his feet however, make it unclear if the subject of his anger is the bird, or the third of their meeting.
The wolf wears the form of a man, rangy and lean, his features hungry and his shaggy hair as white as the snow around them. His lips are pulled back in a snarl as he disregards the mortal man and directs his fury solely at the crow. A pile of roughly-butchered meat, thrice the weight of a young woman, lies at his feet atop a sled made from branches. A flint-topped spear sticks from the pile, piercing one likely-looking steak from which a ragged bite has been torn before being discarded.
"I deserve my share, Soqed, or this bounty would have ceased long ago," the crow speaks, a mocking tone in its harsh voice. "I'm not asking for more than a morsel, after all, lest any of us forget, all I did was give you an idea. It was <span class="mu-i">you</span> who actually trapped the girl in the Wild and you who pretended to be her friend, her loyal companion through her little stroll. I never <span class="mu-i">did</span> anything, unlike you."
"And for that, my pack and your flock enjoyed a pact," the wolf snarls, his human mouth full of a canine's teeth to pierce and hold and rip. "As we agreed at the time! I should have known then that would not be enough for a glutton like you!"
"A pact now far too valuable to break, no matter how sulky you get!" the crow caws triumphantly. "Bark all you like, puppy, you know I'm riiight!" The mocking sing-song to his voice is filled with delight at his cruel joke's success. Yet the joke was not solely at the wolf's expense, as the crow skitters and hops, one beady yellow eye peering at the furious human.
