Your name is Aspen James Foster. For the past 98 days, you have been the President of the United States. It is not a fair world. If it were, you wouldn’t be sitting in the Oval at all. Your largest concerns would be about funding for whichever national parks are not receiving enough tourists. But it’s not a fair world. Just a few bombs in the Capitol building promoted you from a nobody Secretary of the Interior to the most powerful man in the free world. Now your priorities are keeping the country running, managing a half-empty Congress, handling multiple constitutional controversies and (most notably) fighting a war against the organization that caused this turmoil. All of this while trying to secure a full term in the White House in your own right.
You are currently on a flight to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. There you will make your case to bring more nation states on to join the coalition against this terrorist group.
“Bobby, was it?”
“Huh? Oh, uh…yes, Mr. President.”
“Please, just Foster.”
You gesture to your assistant. Well, one of your assistants. He’s a new member of your staff, and that’s about all you know.
“We’re about to land. Can you give me a recap on the situation?”
“I can, sir- Sorry, I mean Foster.”
Bobby places the binder in his hand onto your desk, flipping through the pages.
“On January 24th 2012, the terrorist group Mujahideen for the Sake of God—MFSA for short detonated a series of specifically placed bombs in the Capitol building. The operation was orchestrated by the head of the MFSA, Rajab al-Hai. al-Hai utilized insider c-”
You raise your hand for Bobby to stop.
“Alright, I know all this. What’s next?”
“Uhm…right, yeah. Let’s see…”
The kid flips through the pages in his binder. You sigh.
“Ah! Okay, here we are. Ever since Operation Judgement Day had begun—that’s the name of the war, by the way.”
You rub your temple, ducking your face down into your lap. Does this kid not realize that you’re the one who made that name? Hell, does he not realize you’re the one that was involved in a lot of these developments? You think to yourself while the boy continues rambling that this should be obvious.
“Ever since Operation Judgement Day, the MFSA has been making extreme gains in Iraq to the point that the Iraqi government has all but collapsed, leaving them to fill the vacuum. Currently, our coalition consists of NATO and Saudi Arabia, and now we’re-”
You raise your hand to stop him again.
“Just…just tell me who’s all attending.”
“R-Right.”
Bobby flips through the binders. A drop of sweat trickles down his forehead.
“Aside from the heads of state from Turkey and Saudi Arabia, both of whom are already allied with us in this conflict, six other nation’s representatives will be attending. The list is as follows: Egypt, Israel, Jordan, Syria, Kuwait and Iran.”
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.
After learning that the final conflict against the outerversal entity known to the world as the Uncrowned King, Atë has been of two minds, both scrambling to prepare for armageddon in their own ways. While one part of her soul revels in her cunning and guile after fooling and consuming the greatest weapon known to man, the other is stricken with an uncharacteristic sentimentality. Regardless of whether or not she's ready, what might be the end of everything inexorably approaches.
Below is a simple summary of our adventure so far and the next few messages will also be information gained during the previous thread before I open things properly.
You are Rey Vesperus, half-elven daughter to a Cleric of the Path and a lady ranger, apprentice to your mother's trade, and newly adoptive mother? Caretaker? To a strange lifeform.
Your new hometown is an interesting place. While you made friends with an (apprentice) doctor, your father got into a fight and brought a pair of monsters home who might become your family's responsibility since they have nowhere else to go.
You've shaken hands with the heir of Eichenwald (your new home city) in the hope of building a genuine friendship with the young man despite his bad reputation. His influence should at least help handle the problems of the Mamono village... If you choose to get involved. He left you with an overall good impression despite his bad reputation.
And now you've met the youngest daughter of Mother Earth, Nyct. You learned your soul has been reincarnated from a victim of antiquity, molded by the hands of Mother Earth herself. You also assumed the responsibility of adopting a new lifeform, a dear companion of your past life.
Ninety-Nine waited until the sisters arrived. Sitting on top of a rubbles, armors torn, she stared at her hands and claws. She failed. Her comrades laid dead, the camp destroyed, and no news of the battle. The distant thunders of artillery and zaps of pulse weapons echoed, Ninety-Nine watched the guardsmen moving about, but she found herself with the quartermaster of the company that arrived with Tobias.
Ninety-Nine walked across the field, covered in a spare with burnt edges and torn from being pulled under the debris. While this was no robe, the tarp covered enough to keep her from shame of her body. Though she had to admit, freely walking not encased in armor without the derision or disgust liberated her a small part of her worries.
“I need weapons.”
“Weapons, a—agent?” The quartermaster said with a nervous stutter. “We don’t have much to spare as of the moment. Maybe one.”
Various heavy armaments stood against the wall, along with few grenades and melee weapons too small for her to find. She saw a heavy stubber and a lascannon being the only heavy weaponries available.
“What about things to hit with?”
“Chainswords and bayonets but nothing for your uh… stature.” The quartermaster said.
“Give me…”
>The Heavy stubber >The lascannon
Ninety-Nine looked around the rubble, looking for a dependable material to make a weapon out of. She found…
>A rebar with debris >Spare chainsword chains, in which she wrapped around her hands to forearms >Write-in [Encouraged]
QM NOTE: Been a hot minute since I did this, please be patient! ANNOUNCEMENT: I'm reenlisting, I'll tell you guys when I go baclk
The rebels had won, they had taken everything from you, even your <span class="mu-s"> precious daughter </span> , She who was blessed with the <span class="mu-s"> Ichor of the gods </span>. You were too late to save your precious Seleno in time. Her crystallized soul was entrapped in a body besieged by rot and decay, You have done what you could throughout the last few days but you could not stop the inevitable especially as an usurped king unless...
<span class="mu-r"> "Do you wish to free me? A copy of a copy of your kingdom's nightmares?" </span> said the last shard of Frenkesia, the mother of all that was unholy. Only your royal bloodline knew where she was trapped. Your entire body would shiver about her unsightly and mostly featureless face. An blasphemous <span class="mu-s"> adoll </span> that should not exist in the first place...
"I seek your forbidden knowledge so I may forge a new body for my daughter. No tricks of mine can sustain her rotting body." you kneeled before her, desperation had bent your knees. You would do anything for Seleno.
<span class="mu-r"> "Fool me not, o young king. I know of your forefather's curse. I will be bound to your body, i will not taste true freedom unless you exchange something... dear to you for my services, what will it be, your 'highness' ?" </span>
>My kingdom, ravage it at your will. >My flesh, you can burrow into it once my daughter can breathe again. I will be your perfect host. >Wealth beyond measure, with your knowledge, I can make an army of adoll to take over what is rightfully mine >A steady supply of Ichor. The very blood of the gods courses freely in whatever adall we will fashion together >No...I will bring ruin it all, you are evil incarnate. I can not set you free.
You are Kara, High Priestess of the Starlit Grove, handmaiden to Queen Selanwe, and the spiritual voice of your people.
You remember the last Gathering of Lanterns—the shimmer of silver pollen in the air, the laughter of children riding on currents of magic, the low, gentle hum of the fairies as they blessed the winds. That world, your world, is now behind you. The Otherworld, realm of fae and dream, is doomed.
One of your oldest sages saw it: a demon tide rising, swallowing the edges of reality, bleeding through the cracks in the veil. Even the fairies, eternal and radiant, fear it. No magic in your homeland can stop what is coming.
The Queen could not save the land. But she could save a people.
She chose you.
You knew what it meant. All elves do. Without the blessings of the fairies, your bodies will begin to falter. Long will your lives be, still—but they will now have an end. You will age. You will weaken. You will die.
You accepted.
Three great galleys awaited at the far western shore, vessels of living wood and spell-threaded sails. Each carried three hundred elves. Two wave-masters aboard each ship stirred the sea itself, ensuring safe passage even through storm and whirl.
You brought with you:
30 healers, keepers of body and spirit 12 druids, bearers of the last sacred seeds 300 soldiers, trained to row and ready to fight The rest—craftsmen, poets, hunters, teachers, dreamers, lovers—all volunteers
Elvish travel bread, rich with dreamhoney and sealed in ferncloth, will feed your people for years.
You crossed the threshold of worlds.
Now you stand on the edge of a new land. A mortal coast. A strange forest of broad-leafed giants. The sun rises on alien birdsong. The rivers gleam with silver, and the soil is dark and alive. You see no humans yet. The land is wild, and still.
At night, the stars do not speak to you here. They are distant. Watching. Silent.
You gathered your people beneath those quiet stars. No one wept. One child asked if the fairies would follow. You told him they would not. But something else would follow—what you choose to make of this new life.
Another winter ice has broken through the fjords of northern Falheim and those who still call themselves loyal - to you, your father’s name, and to the blood in your family’s veins - look to you for direction. Spring has always been a hopeful time for your people and as the snows halt and the waters’ icy surfaces begin to crack and melt into pristine flows, the clan is eager to rebuild.
This winter has been a particularly harsh one and to think on it is to mourn.
Gone with the long winter, how did your father, the previous elder of this small clan, pass away?
>> Valour - he was slain while raiding the lands of Earl Ufisson, a sworn enemy to your family-line
>> Ailments - his time had come, even if it felt too soon, and it was old age and sickness that finally took him from you
>> Betrayal - he was slain by his kin when your uncle, Aleifr, led a mutiny against the old man and seized control of his clan
>> Retirement - knowing full well the end awaited, your old man took to the mountains for pilgrimage, a sombre knowingness about him when he left, and was never seen again
You play as Argia Candente, a Paladin of Ansàrra cursed with silver hair since birth, on her way to deliver correction where needed. And there’s a lot of correction needed…
# # # # # #
Welcome to the <span class="mu-s">sixth thread</span> of Argia Candente's astounding adventures, our scatterbrained, silver-haired (busty, as the players decided) Holy Knight-trainee with a penchant for daydreaming and plagued by self-doubt, on a quest to achieve her ordaining and save her family from poverty and starvation.
You faced many threats and troubles (Threads 1-4) and then you explored an abandoned Temple looking for a corrupted wizard (Thread 5) to deliver to his Throneland masters. But then you suffered betrayal, from the person you trusted the most, the person who trusted you with her own deepest secret, disregarding your friends’ need to know. The only person you believed could understand you betrayed you… and the worst thing is that Willow did so to save your soul. Or so she believes.
Over the course of the latest thread you managed to rebuild together the relationship with your remaining companions — <span class="mu-s">Rubida dell’Obertengo</span> and <span class="mu-s">Soralisa da Zaribari</span>. While your Magus ally (and a friend, how much a Heathen can be called a friend) <span class="mu-s">Sandora Mirari</span> had to leave on urgent business after the recent scuffle with the Inquisitor set on your heels freed her.
And speaking of inquisition, you are currently under direct (very direct) scrutiny by <span class="mu-s">Rosandra Brusera da Roccafonda</span>, who has been sent by the highest hierarchies of the Holy Land. You knew your silver hair signified you were cursed, but you did not expect this trouble to reach you right now… At least you managed to convince Rosandra not to smite you immediately.
What’s worse, you failed the previous mission, the one given to you by <span class="mu-s">Carnaval</span>, the Angel of Ansàrra. And your Master, <span class="mu-s">Ibardo Delebasse</span>, has been imprisoned on charges of misbehaviour. You suspect that his habit of entertaining himself with the daughters and wives of the nobility finally caught up to him, but you are certain there’s more to this.
Now you and your friends continue your quest, looking for <span class="mu-s">Willow Stark</span>, the otherworlder who betrayed you… apparently to save your soul. There’s indeed much correction to be delivered!
