It is beautiful. You never had a thing for gems, but this one you cannot look away from. In part because you see it whether your eyes are closed or open, true, but also from how eye-grabbing it is. It was so small, if not for the way it shone, you would have never picked it out before it flew at you. It looks like a ruby, if a ruby had an inner glow to it, and looked as if it couldn't decide how it wanted to be cut from one second to the next.
This strangeness is amost enough to distract you from what has happened. They'd started it. It wasn't your fault. But now they are dead, and next thing you know that stone flew at you, straight through you actually. Your clothes are intact, you felt nothing but a splash of heat on your chest, but when you turned around it wasn't there, and now here it sits in your vision, like the sun's afterimage. And you suddenly know more than you did a scant few minutes ago.
This. Is a bloodstone. It forms inside a person when they kill another. When killed in turn, they...turn on? Activate? Awaken? Come alive? It's hard to say, you're parsing thoughts that don't feel like your own. Point is, something very rare has happened to you, perhaps the only good thing about this mess you find yourself in.
More informations spontaneously flows into your mind, as if your brain had known all along and was helpfully volunteering a memory. But you know that to be false. You skip most of it as one part jumps out at you, barely needing translation. Power. Strength, health, all that you desire. This stone can give it, but it can do better. Let you home in on others. Inside other people. You could take them. They are murderers. But so are you. You could ignore it. Even as you think that the vision of the stone fades, but the thoughts linger. You could be more. This...this is what you wanted, isn't it? This is destiny. You can reach for it, or let fate consume you.
You are a LALAFELL. A mere eight years old at that. You were sold into slavery in the gladiatorial arena of Ul'dah--a city state which has grown only more cruel and corrupt since Sultan Ravenous Boar came into power. A madman, he elected to make both poverty and starvation illegal in the state which disproportionately affected the primarily Lalafell miners.
Your father sold you off as the youngest of your siblings to save costs and have less mouths to feed. Cutting off the pinky to save the hand, as it were. The Roegadyn ruling class do love to see frail little Lalafell risk their lives fighting for their lives, so they paid a decent penny for you, if that's any consolation.
But that was then, this is now. You are a shivering little man in a cell with nothing but a white tunic and worn down pants who will be sent to die in obscurity for the entertainment of the masses. Yet, still, you deserve a name. What will it be? >Mushir Toshir >Tilbicho Mobicho >Mindafu Cidafu >other (must follow Plainsfolk naming convention)
(Author's Note: An AU FFXIV RP I wanted to write, blending elements from Kenshi into my interpretation. No stat system or dice rolls. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.))
Notice: Before beginning, I haven't written in over a year. Life's been busy and I don't have the time to spend on live.fiction for hours on end. (first time posting a story on qst even tho I lurk on other quests here) Secondly, I will be using chatgpt sparingly, mainly for power creation, item creation, side character creation, event starts, and creature creation. I will write everything else with no generated text. You have my word as an author. Thirdly, we will be using a 2d100 system for our MC, who will be male. Depending on the rolls in the quest, this could improve for various talents. Lastly, let's have some fun.
<span class="mu-b"> >Hello world of system sol-5< >Having advanced close enough to a class 1 world, it is time to choose a deity for your world< >Cell’s have awakened, life energy is unlocked, dungeons are being generated< >Historical Artifacts have gained power. Trials have been created< >Legacies are gaining power< >Animals are awakening< >Nukes have been disabled< >Let fortune favor you, my descendants< </span>
So no shit there you were shitting your brains out on the toilet of a tacobell before the world went to more shit then this year's burning man. Feeling something in you unlock, power you could touch deep within you.
>Who are you? >Why were you in Taco Bell? >Where are you in America? >What do you do?
Your name is Sora Windcrest. A thief, a murderer, a rascal, a psychopath, etc. You’ve heard it all. And you're damn proud of how famous you’ve gotten.
Oh right, you’re also with the White Fang. Almost forgot. Loyal? Eh, sure, so long as they let you do whatever the fuck you want.
Lately, though, things have been shifting. People are bailing left and right. Something about your branch being “disloyal to its own” or some whiny crap like that. Idiots. If they’re dumb enough to buy Carmine’s lies, then they can rot in a ditch somewhere far away. And if you ever find them again, you'll be more than happy to handle them with an unhealthy dose of ‘hard love’.
Word is, this branch took a heavy hit. The Black Sheep are whispering that it's hanging by a thread. One or two more fuck-ups and it’s toast. And honestly? You don’t give a shit. The only reason you’re still here is the hope that one day, somehow, Adam fucking Taurus notices you and lets you fight by his side. Unrealistic dream? Maybe. Still, worth sticking around for.
…Okay, maybe there’s another reason. That girl Shelly, she’s been looking for a way out since the start. You’ve known that. It’s why you even entertained the idea. Would you actually leave with her? Maybe. Looks like she even got Da Boss T to consider it. That would be treason. And treason? Treason is fun. So you’ll cross that bridge if, and, or when it shows up.
Anyway, poor girl’s in a tough spot. So is Mr. Doggy Ears. She’s been having near-daily meetings with the big shots. You've overheard bits of them now and then. If only they’d let you join one of those calls just to catch a glimpse of that red-haired bastard…
But nah. If you’re gonna get noticed by him, it’ll be on your own terms. You don’t owe anyone shit. Still, the top-dogs (heh, top dogs, get it?) are at least giving Taylor and Birdie a shot to prove they can get their shit together. Maybe it's worth backing them up. For now.
And let’s not ignore the obvious. Headquarters is empty as fuck. Half the crew’s already peaced out. The only ones left are Shelly’s ride-or-dies. Not surprising, since she seems like a trustworthy bitch. No wonder they’re following her around like a damn private squad. Bitch even gets her own crew while you’re stuck solo? You’ll get the secret on how to do so from her one day.
In all honesty, it feels like she’s the one in charge now. Sure, Taylor’s still “the boss,” but he barely leaves his office. Just a title at this point. And also… he’s back on the bottle. Poor son of a bitch.
You are Noel Tiberius di Hazaran, queen of the realm whose name you share. Until two days ago the “continent” was just some far-off place to you, a place from which armed soldiers and their war machines would arrive to do mischief in your homeland. But now, on the second morning after your arrival, it feels oddly normal.
Sure, the standard of technology is a hundred years ahead of your own home – two hundred in terms of military technology. That’s entirely by design of course. It wouldn’t help the old Organization to have your people using equivalent technology to their own, or else you might be harder to control. But beyond that technology, some of which is gradually being introduced even back home in Hazaran, there isn’t much other than the scale of the land itself that strikes you as being especially foreign.
Perhaps you could say that the prominence of Hazaran’s mountains is much more dramatic, rising as they do across a much shorter distance from the sea to dominate the center of the island landmass you’ve spent the balance of your life on. Maybe there’s more evidence of modern amenities visible from the streets, and the presence of automobiles is somewhat jarring when compared to the horses, wagons, and carriages you’d normally expect. You’re not even sure how many of the people walking between stores and cafes and private homes have even seen a horse. But more broadly their daily lives aren’t too dissimilar from your own subjects’.
There is however one difference that’s relevant to you – the complete lack of yōma.
They’ve been rare these days even in your homeland, though they still do certainly exist. It’s actually something of a mystery how any have appeared after the loss of the Organization’s labs at Lavinia, which by all accounts should have been the end of it.
Add that to the list of questions you’ll want to try getting answered while you’re here.
To do that, you’ve made certain arrangements with the local government. It was a bureaucratic wrestling match just to get the powers that be to consider letting you do what you’ve come all this way for, and even at that it’s plain to see that they don’t like it. Just the word “asarakam” carries such a weight here that at least in this country its utterance carries actual legal penalties under normal circumstances, and so the first challenge was to convince the representatives of the government that your case wasn’t normal.
Now comes the hard part. You’ve convinced the people you needed to convince to get information on the location of one of the asarakam. That means now you and your cohort get to go and find that asarakam, approach them, and establish a dialogue – hopefully without it coming to the sort of violence only awakened beings and partially-awakened warriors are equipped for. >1/2
In the name of God, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful.
The Sultana was troubled. For a fortnight she had been suffering the same dream, grim, with a startling vividness, such as she had not experienced since her girlhood. They concerned her only son, the prince, now eleven years old, perched upon that precarious threshold between childhood and maturity. Only the other day the Sultana had been devastated to learn that the prince no longer wished to play Shatranj with her. "Shatranj," he had said, "is a game for men. It is not fitting that I should play with you." This, despite that she had herself taught him the rules of the game. They were parroted words he had picked up from one of his tutors, but that was little comfort.
Some rituals are harder to erase. When the prince fell sick one dark moon, his body trembling with feverish chills, it was his mother whom he called for. His mother, to come and wipe his brow and comfort him and whisper in his ear the tales she spun so skillfully and with so much love. So she came, passing through the dark hall alone by the light of a single oil lamp.
The scent of sandalwood and night-blooming jasmine hovered thick in the lavish bedchamber.
"Ummi," the prince said, in a little lamb's voice which smote the Sultana's heart, though she showed nothing of it in her face.
"I am here," she replied, sitting down upon a silken cushion beside the bed.
"Will you tell me a story?"
"Certainly. Of whom do you wish to hear? The hunchback? The fishermen? Perhaps the Vizier's daughter?"
"No, something new. Something I have not heard before."
"As you wish. A story of the great and the small, the wise and the strong and the cruel, the ordinary and the supernatural. But I shall need your help."
"My help?" So great was his astonishment that even in his fatigue he raised himself up on his elbows, his eyes alight with pleasure.
"We shall recount the tale together."
"How?"
"Well, to begin, tell me, ya ruhi, what sort of hero this story shall concern..."
A Power Creature can be anything you imagine, as a clan they can shape a destiny of any form. They might be a team, a family, minions, a pantheon, a company, guardians, etc. They will influence events in two main ways:
>Battle: Enemies will fight to oppose the clan. Battles will be resolved by a shuffled selection of one PC against one opponent, the outcome determined by Combat Style, or, if the same, the most experience.
>Development: The Clan and PCs can affect their surroundings, themselves, and develop new strategies. Effects could include: restoring losses to the clan, changing the dynamics of battle, brokering alliances, gathering information, creating fortifications etc.
To create a Power Creature, simply fill out three descriptions:
>General Premise: (visual reference encouraged), briefly outline basic traits and any aptitude for a role in the clan and with other clan members.
>Movement Class (pick one): SEDENTARY, WRIGGLE, SLITHER, SLIDE, ROLL, CRAWL, RUN, DASH, BOUND, CLAMBER, GLIDE, FLUTTER, DART, FLOW, PHASE or APPARATE. (this will influence selection in the shuffle for battle depending on the distance and terrain traversed)
Once there is at least one PC with a Combat Style of every type, the clan activity will begin. You can then suggest developments to pursue, while more PCs can be created at any time.
