Welcome to Adventu, your final fantasy rp haven. adventu focuses on both canon and original characters from different worlds and timelines that have all been pulled to the world of zephon: a familiar final fantasy-styled land where all adventurers will fight, explore, and make new personal connections.
at adventu, we believe that colorful story and plots far outweigh the need for a battle system. rp should be about the writing, the fun, and the creativity. you will see that the only system on our site is the encouragement to create amazing adventures with other members. welcome to adventu... how will you arrive?
year 5, quarter 3
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Ever since he woke up in this strange new world, Gilgamesh found himself beset with problem after problem. His weapon ended up misplaced for a short period of time, then he got accosted by some random stranger and his pet dragon (which, if honesty continued to remain the best policy here, anybody else would have taken their side on the issue) and, as the metaphorical mud icing to complete this proverbial three-layer garbage cake, the swordsman's peerless battle aura required him to fend off a Great Malboro that saw him a most delectable snack.
Of course, whether or not his recollections of these recent occurrences were anywhere remotely factual was a separate matter entirely, one Gilgamesh himself was unlikely to humor given how quixotic his own worldviews generally are. But now was not the time to debate over pointless semantics! A more pressing concern had to be dealt with, one this hopelessly naive swordsman expressed with nothing short of practiced eloquence: "Just where the heck am I this time!?"
"Oh, you're a newcomer to these parts, are you?" Eh? Who the—? Oh, it was just some layperson who happened to be within hearing distance of the exacerbated Gilgamesh. He sure was brave enough to approach him, especially without any context. "I'm afraid you're looking at the ruins of Metaia Temple."
Huh? Ruins? Gilgamesh took a quick glance at the encampments strewn about across the landscape hugging the edges of a structure far too magnificent for words alone, then turned to the inquisitive gentlemen with a skeptical frown. "What are you talking about? There's plenty of people living here!" he reminds the stranger, palm stretched out before the scene for emphasis.
"Ah, those are just trading outposts. Merchants and scholars, mostly, but every now and then you have a few mercenary squads come in to exchange wares and ply their trade." The fellow sighs. "Scavengers, too, the miserable vultures." Scavengers, he says? Gilgamesh hums pensively as the chains of reason slowly begin to wrap hold over his imagination. If there were foragers here, it could only mean that there was something of incredible value just waiting to be discovered.
One thought led to another, and eventually these would give way for a sudden revelation: since this place once operated as a venue of reverence and worship, it only made sense for its previous occupants to designate a protected space for their valuables, and a temple was unlikely to find anything better than a weapon with some tangible connection to their faith. And if Gilgamesh knew anything about weapons, the most powerful ones were almost always objects of great importance to some religion or another.
Perhaps it was time to do a little tomb raiding of his own?
"Do these miscreants pose frequent trouble here?" Gilgamesh asked somewhat insincerely, absorbing the view into memory for later recollection as he searched for a point of entry.
"Not exactly, no. I do think they ought to show a little respect for the dearly departed, however." A typical response from one with superstitious leans, even though his concerns came from a place of sincerity. "Many traipse inside and never take into account how much of an impact their recklessness has...until it's too late, that is."
Well, that was certainly... ominous, to say the least. "Both courage and avarice are bedfellows in the proper circumstances," Gilgamesh ponders aloud, not exactly sure if whatever he said made any sense due to the blind fascination that gripped his every waking thought. Only the possibility of discovering the holiest sword of them all—sacred and noble Excalibur—kept him interested enough to consider diving into a nest of literal evil.
Apparently, self-preservation only mattered if there weren't any rare artifacts to be found.
Who knows? Somebody might find the warrior's lunacy rather humorous this afternoon.
Open! ● On the hunt for some treasure! ● 636 words
MADE BY MIZO
Final Fantasy IX
27
YEARS
Agendered
Open
Pansexual
333 POSTS
Fin
Peace is but a shadow of death, desperate to forget its painful past.
Metaia Temple. Kuja remembered it in its prime. The gleaming stone edifices, the smell of softened parchment, the excitable whispers of idiots babbling far beyond their limited intellect. The temple itself had brought to mind the hushed halls of Daguerreo, and the so-called scholars inside had shown no different a scorn. ’I’ve studied the forces of the Shimmering Island my entire life. What could you know?’ They’d all seen their end eventually, and so had the people of Metaia. A satisfying fate if he said so himself -- and of course he did. Though that wasn’t to say he had any love for the wreckage left behind.
Kuja scowled from his silver dragon at the landscape below. There was no beauty here, and no life either as the two were so often acquainted. The earth was cracked, the air stale, and as he glowered at the drying vegetation he could not help a tinge of disdain. The very soul of the land had been sucked dry. He’d seen more than enough lifeless husks to be finished with them for good.
Had he his own way, he’d have never returned to this ruined wasteland. Had he his own way, he’d have still been locked away far below the sands plotting out some scheme or another, but he hadn’t his own way and he doubted he would for some time.
It was all the fault of that witch. How he hated her. She had offered him nothing less than immortality at the cost of his soul. The wretched hag. She was as hideous as she was dull. He would do her bidding, arrange her downfall, and be done with it. He had no interest in playing puppet any longer.
His dragon soared over the city walls. From here, Kuja could make out the shadow of human forms as soulless as the lands they cursed. They wandered the ruined city searching for the flesh that sloughed off them in rotten patches. Kuja straightened and kept his gaze ahead towards the towering arch of the temple. He would deal with his share of undead in the catacombs beneath. He wouldn’t waste his time on what could rightfully be avoided.
His dragon landed on the temple’s lawn, and Kuja slipped off with practiced ease. His boots crunched on the dry grass, and he sighed, pushing his hair over his shoulder with a sweep of his hand. The surrounding ghouls turned to him, attracted by the noise, and started towards him hungering for the flesh that sloughed off them in patches. ”Go,” he said, glancing towards his dragon, and she took to the sky again. Her heavy wing beats struck him with sharp wind that caught at his hair and skirt. He smirked faintly before gathering magic to his fingertips.
”Fira.” He swiped his hand down and the approaching undead burst into deadly flame. He walked past them without waiting for their death throes. They fell in a fiery heap at his feet.
Within the temple’s depths waited countless tomes left abandoned and forgotten. He would find them, use their ciphers to decode the witch’s puzzle, and restock his library with his findings. It would be quiet, straightforward, and utterly unpleasant.
Kuja gave a wry smile as he approached the doors and the distasteful work that awaited him.
The closer Gilgamesh moved his garish, lumbering form toward the abandoned temple grounds proper, the clearer and more precisely he could soak in the arabesque environs of the surrounding merchant outposts, colors and textures blending to create a tapestry of profit from the remains of that which once had the privilege of a sacred existence. Vendors and scavengers haggled and bartered their wares for gil or other trinkets at their disposal, squabbling like roosters over piles of feed.
Gilgamesh merely balked at the sheer novelty of these unknown territories. "This place has gotta have some of that dank loot up for grabs!" he contemplates with bombastic enthusiasm, expecting riches beyond what his peanut-sized brain is able to even comprehend. "My instincts tell me that there must be a weapon of immense power in this location!" No matter how many times he made this exact claim, it usually never is. But, like anyone with a gambling problem, Gilgamesh always believed that, eventually, his optimism would finally pay off.
In a sense, this exact moment actually proves the earlier statement false: Gilgamesh did happen to encounter a weapon of inscrutable presence and power – but, rather than elicit a feeling of ambitious passion from the dim-witted swordsman, his enormous frame is caught by surprise when a foreboding chill grips him on the spot.
"Bwooah! What in the world was that!?" Gilgamesh shivers like a wet dog emerging from a pool of water. "I've never felt anything so ominous in my life..." He casts awkward glances in every direction, even craning his gaze up to the sky, and captures a lengthy look at the source of his tension: a glimmering silver dragon soaring effortlessly through the heavens, appearing to descend upon the derelict monastery off yonder. "Oof. That's gonna be problematic." With that thing roosting nearby, it was going to be tough raiding anyone's tombs of their valuables!
But then, the beautiful creature lifts itself up into the air and disappears as fast as she arrives. Gilgamesh blinked, stupefied by his own good luck today, yet wholly unaware the dragon was only meant to serve as a transport for the true point of origin behind his dreadful premonitions. Nervously, he mutters with a low vocal register, "I-I was gonna say, uh... P-Problematic for... you! Yeah, totally! Hah, nailed it." Smooth moves, real smooth.
Confidence restored, the warrior's chest puffs up with one deep breath. "Wherever you are, Enkidu, my faithful companion, know that I bravely take this next treasure on thy behalf!" He swirls his arms and twirls his body into a series of practiced martial poses, an exercise to improve fighting spirit and encourage motivation, ending the sequence with a robust Kabuki stance. "I, the undefeatable Gilgamesh, shall be promptly cleaning you out of all your strongest swords!"
He crouches low with sudden vim and vigor, then bursts forward into a mighty running sprint with the swiftness of the wind itself. "Hwaaah-hahahahahahaha-haaaa!!!" Like a river that traveled only in a single direction, the dimwitted swordsman's thundering cackles were certain to penetrate whatever ambiance hung within the complex interior itself.
Obviously, Gilgamesh wasn't aware of the temple's latent zombie problem, either.
But he will be.
Oh, he will be.
Kuja ● HERE TO KICK ASS AND EAT SCOOBY SNACKS ● 535 words
MADE BY MIZO
Final Fantasy IX
27
YEARS
Agendered
Open
Pansexual
333 POSTS
Fin
Peace is but a shadow of death, desperate to forget its painful past.
Kuja’s footsteps echoed through the somber halls. Not two months before, they’d been polished and hushed with knowledge. Now cobwebs itched over their dull and lifeless edges. Kuja paused as he reached the center of the atrium, glancing about with his hand thoughtfully at his chin. The undead were noticeably absent here. More than likely, they’d taken refuge in the dark underground, but for now it was quiet. Kuja took a few grateful steps towards a scholar’s desk still scattered parchment, quills, and a spilled pot of ink. He slid a finger over its surface and watched the trail of dust he left behind.
”Death on silence slowly creeps,
Through halls of gold and twilight sleep.
Pages on forgotten pyres,
Age to dust and then expire.”
Kuja sighed and slid a hand through his hair. It was a waste, really, the lost knowledge in these halls. He could recover a dozen of its tomes -- maybe half -- but the rest would fall to the ravages of time. This temple was a tomb. It carried with it a somber grace, and one that he was loathe to disturb.
That was, until a horrible noise pierced the silence.
Kuja sneered, turning on his heel. Kuja felt his tail bristle as the tone was shattered. It was a thumping, boorish guffah, something loud and clumsy and bumbling. Magic rose to his fingertips with the whisper of murder, but he took a short breath and silenced it. If there was any mercy left in the world, the source would leave him well enough alone.
But of course he knew it wouldn’t. Mercy was a lie told by children and morons.
Metallic footsteps pounded through the grounds like a charging bull. Kuja felt his fingers curl before he cleared his expression, hand at his cheek as he waited. There was no use picking fights before he’d assured the upper hand. He'd do it in the catacombs then, and only if the buffoon thought to follow him. He’d have plenty of opportunities in its labyrinthine halls.
”You realize this is a temple,” he said as the figure rounded the door. ”You might wake the dead.”
Practically shattering the fragile rotted doors of the monastery's main entrance with a most ungraceful shoulder barge, the swordsman's laughter fills the antechamber with a thunderous-yet-tinny echo that served to amplify the loneliness and desolation of this once glorious place of reverence and worship. "Never you fear, Gilgamesh is here!" He basically screams, certain that no one had been listening in—
”You realize this is a temple? You might wake the dead.”
Instinctively, the warrior summons forth his trusted crimson halberd with a practiced flourish, but in turning to face his new opponent, a mixture of confusion and disappointment is all Gilgamesh would feel upon recognizing a man—
Wait, this was a man he was looking at, right?
...Right?
Dumbfounded and unsure of how to approach the situation now, Gilgamesh merely stood there, maintaining his posture like the world's ugliest model as he began profusely sweating over how to address this androgynous person with feathery hair and clothes ripped straight out of an exotic dancer's wardrobe. And they thought he looked offensive...
Miraculously, it took but a single functioning brain cell (a fact that really ought to come as a surprise for anybody that's reading this right now) for the idiot swordsman to recapture his footing and shoulder his weapon, producing yet another guffaw that was sure to evoke the image of nails scraping sadistically against a chalkboard. "Hah! A silly notion, that!" he rebuffs the effeminate-looking individual, thrusting his other free hand into his hip. "Alive or dead, no one has toppled the invincible Gilgamesh!" If he had a gil for every time he said that exact line, well, let's just say he'd probably be doing something far more productive than plumbing some ancient ruins for treasure.
In the back of his mind, however, Gilgamesh felt a pang of anxiety over the thought of potentially confronting some reanimated corpse. Usually, if one was present, it became guaranteed that dozens more—perhaps even hundreds—were within proximity as well.
Speaking of which, after taking a brief look at his immediate surroundings, the roving collector began to question whether or not this place even had anything worth looting from its dust-riddled rooms. It seemed pretty barren, all things considered; just a bunch of old furniture and tons of unused parchment and half-written scrolls. They probably weren't even of the elder variety, either.
"Hrm, something's not sitting right here..." Gilgamesh ponders, conveniently forgetting the presence of the only other living body in the room like the scatterbrained gnat he was. He hums, "I can't sense its presence." He refused to elaborate, but makes a rather wild jump in logic all the same. "This must be a part of some nefarious scheme to inhibit my progress! O, ye cruel and fickle gods, why must I be tormented so!?"
Solipsism, his name is Gilgamesh.
Kuja ● THESE NON-BINARY OUTFITS ARE SO CONFUSING ● 468 words
MADE BY MIZO
Final Fantasy IX
27
YEARS
Agendered
Open
Pansexual
333 POSTS
Fin
Peace is but a shadow of death, desperate to forget its painful past.
I'm so sorry for any and all insults provided by Kuja's head
Why should the world exist without me?
The man who burst through the door was a monstrous fool.
He towered over him by nearly two feet -- a hulking mountain of armor, spikes, and loose fabric. Patterns were layered on patterns. Colors clashed in hideous contrast. His face (if he had one) was mercifully hidden behind a false front carved in harsh angles and eclectic stripes. He stood with his back straight and his head proudly raised like a child’s image of a hero.
Kuja’s eyes cooled. A moron. He was dealing with a moron.
After a long, painful silence between them, the man finally shouldered his weapon and let out a laugh that made Kuja’s skin crawl. It was like the death throes of some feral animal. Kuja longed to put it out of its misery.
”Alive or dead, no one has toppled the invincible Gilgamesh!”
”How inconvenient.” The shadow of a smirk touched his lips. If this idiot was invincible then Kuja would swallow Zidane’s sword. He touched at his temple and flipped his hair over his shoulder. ”By all means go charging into the catacombs. I’d like to see your invincibility tested.”
And it would rid him of the burden. Still, Kuja’s eyes flicked over the idiot with a kind of idle interest. He might have had the brain of an oglop, but if those swords were anything to judge by then he had some kind of skill to his name. Kuja could have easily handled the droves himself, but he’d never been one to throw aside a tool when one presented itself. He’d provide a decent shield if nothing else.
”I was about to delve below as it happens.” Kuja cleared his expression and turned to face the man. ”I’m a scholar, and I know a path through these halls. I could show you if you’d help to clear it.”
”How inconvenient.” Yes, at times it truly was inconvenient – being so ridiculously powerful, that is! Not to mention devilishly handsome, if the self-deluded Gilgamesh said so. ”By all means go charging into the catacombs. I’d like to see your invincibility tested.” Ah, this dainty silken fellow wishes for a live demonstration of his legendary greatness?
Under normal circumstances, Gilgamesh would have perceived the presence of this effeminate figure to be a hindrance in his quest for the sacred blade of myth, but this was before the blundering idiot had learned of his (her? their? its?) reason for traversing these corridors and chambers full of bones and books. ”I was about to delve below as it happens. I’m a scholar, and I know a path through these halls. I could show you if you’d help to clear it.”
An idea crosses the colorful wanderer's stunted brain, but in place of a light bulb was a flickering waxen candle. ”Well, two heads are better than none...” Gilgamesh ponders to himself, completely butchering the intended idiom in the process. It takes hardly three seconds for him to reach a decision, to which the collector gives the androgynous erudite a huge, stupid grin. ”Consider my services hired, then! But on one condition—” He then points a meaty finger at the other person for emphasis. ”If there's any weapons stashed away in that cellar, I'm keepin' 'em for myself!”
It was a fair exchange, at least in his perspective: the strangely-dressed sage gets to browse the ancient temple's stores of forgotten knowledge, and Gilgamesh would offer himself as a bodyguard in return for any useful implements of warfare. And besides, this puny, purple pundit barely looked like those arms could even lift up a ham sandwich, let alone a sword!
Oh yeah, it's all coming together.
Kuja ● THAT IS A KRONK MEME IN WORD FORM, YOU'RE WELCOME ● 302 words
MADE BY MIZO
Final Fantasy IX
27
YEARS
Agendered
Open
Pansexual
333 POSTS
Fin
Peace is but a shadow of death, desperate to forget its painful past.
Kuja saw wheels turning behind his eyes. Slow, rusted wheels about to shatter. There was a short moment of contemplation before the man relented. ”Well, two heads are better than none…”
Kuja’s lips turned. ”Quite.” God, what a fool he was! It would have been a spectacle if Kuja hadn’t been the one who had to deal with him. He thought longingly of his desert palace and the holding cells he kept beneath. What he wouldn’t give to see him suspended over lava! Let him have his quips then. Kuja would laugh until his throat was sore.
”Of course.” Kuja raised a dismissive hand. ”The monks here collected all manner of artifacts -- many imbued with the magic of an ancient race. Their blades are legendary.”
It was only a partial lie. He had no doubt that the scholars here had horded a treasure trove beneath their feet, but he hadn’t seen any of it for himself. The monks had been terribly secretive every time he’d tried to parse some scrap of research from them. In the end, they’d be torn apart by the secrets from which they’d spurned him. How fitting.
”The upper floors have already been looted. We’ll have to descend through the catacombs. You can go first if you wouldn’t mind.”A human shield. Kuja smirked. In those narrow passages, he didn’t think he could have passed by the idiot if he’d wanted to. His girth had a way of filling the room.
Kuja started towards a hall and then waited, his arms crossed. He gestured towards it expectantly. ”I’ll lead from behind,” he said. ”This place is so very dangerous, and I’m so very weak. How fortunate that we crossed paths.” He had no doubts that the man wouldn’t question the obvious. How had he made it this far if he couldn’t handle himself? The idiot would swallow whatever he was fed. Kuja doubted he’d ever questioned anything in his life.
”Of course. The monks here collected all manner of artifacts -- many imbued with the magic of an ancient race. Their blades are legendary.” Like something out of a cartoon, greedy Gilgamesh could practically hear the sound of cash registers erupting with fountains of gil at the mention of magical relics, complete with little bells and whistles. Naturally, this could only mean one thing: holy Excalibur had to be here! ”The upper floors have already been looted. We’ll have to descend through the catacombs. You can go first if you wouldn’t mind.”
”And I don't!” Gilgamesh agreed, rather predictably, with a pompous bellowing laugh. If one paid close enough attention, they could hear a rat screaming for help. ”Lucky for you, my trusted halberd can predict the weather, and a storm of pain shall carve and tear apart these foul horrors of the depths!” Incidentally, it made a pretty good toothpick, too.
”I’ll lead from behind. This place is so very dangerous, and I’m so very weak. How fortunate that we crossed paths.” The painted warrior sneers arrogantly, wholly confident that this person of indeterminate sex had merely stated a fact. Again, ham sandwich. ”Be sure to take notes, scholar! It's not every day you get to see a living legend in action!” With slow, thundering footsteps and a chest full of confidence, Gilgamesh sauntered down the hollow channel provided to him by the feathery-haired fellow, ready to drive his spear into the first unfortunate soul to cross his path.
”And so, brave and mighty Gilgamesh explores the dangerous ruins of these once holy grounds, left to decay and wither beneath the sands of time!” he narrates in the most literal sense of the term, the sound of his blathering voice reverberating down the halls until nothing but silence came back. ”At his side, a–” He paused, still woefully confused about the other individual's apparent features what, exactly, to identify them as. ”–Fancy, smart person!” Nailed it. ”Together, they plumb the ancient depths, scouring the furthest marches east and west! Both have need of the other, for these derelict chambers and rotted rooms teem with all manner of vile creatures, forsaken by the very Gods themselves!”
Fortunately, it was pretty easy to ignore the ramblings of a man so impossibly absorbed within his own delusions of grandeur. Apart from the glaring contrast provided by Gilgamesh's very existence, Metaia Temple would still prove to be a dismal and lonely place caked with dust and death, secrets half-removed from its walls and shelves, some partially lost, others destroyed in the wake of whatever calamity befell its former occupants. Once vibrant and full of color, the tapestries resembled a mere shadow of their former selves now, riddled with holes from exposure to moths and whatever else. Whispers of dark magic still echoed beneath the floors, only detectable to those innately sensitive to its presence.
Obviously, the simpleton had treasure on the brain. ”♫ Few times I've been around that track; but those skeletons are all gonna get whacked; 'cuz they call me Gilgamesh, maaaan~! They call me Gilgamesh, maaaan~! ♪” Incredibly off-pitch singing: just what the doctor ordered. That is, if he were stupidly drunk and couldn't hold a tune to save his life. If he continued his incessant noise-making any further, it was bound to draw the undead toward them, but this would be nothing the so-called scholar wasn't prepared to simply let Gilgamesh deal with.
Honestly, at this point, he deserved whatever misfortune came his way.
Kuja ● HERE, HAVE A GWEN STEFANI REFERENCE ● 585 words
MADE BY MIZO
Final Fantasy IX
27
YEARS
Agendered
Open
Pansexual
333 POSTS
Fin
Peace is but a shadow of death, desperate to forget its painful past.
”Be sure to take notes, scholar! It's not every day you get to see a living legend in action!”
”Worthy of epics, I’m sure.” Kuja’s lips curled. There wasn’t a strand of beauty about the man. Nothing poetic, nothing intelligent, nothing to stir the soul except for a grand example of human stupidity. Assuming the man even was human which Kuja highly doubted. He towered like a hulking beast, and he had just about as much subtlety. Was it inherent to his race? Kuja had never met a Qu capable of stringing more than four sentences together after all.
The halls were just as weathered as he remembered. They were ancient, dusted, and whispering with secrets. Or at least, they would have been if he’d been able to hear his own thoughts. Instead, their somber tone was shattered by the bellows of an idiot. He’d taken to narrating himself like the hero of a children’s fable, and the pretense of it all made Kuja’s eye twitch. The moron wouldn’t understand storytelling if it slapped him across his painted face.
How Kuja longed to provide that hand.
Kuja tore his eyes away to the temple itself. They passed the remains of altars and archives, workshops and studies. A wooden door hung on its hinges, and Kuja glanced past to see what had once been a shrine -- now thoroughly looted. A waste. Kuja brushed loose hair from his cheek and looked away. There had once been beauty here, and perhaps there could be again with the passage of time.
Now, there was only the dead and far worse.
Kuja’s nails dug into his palm. The buffoon! Was he singing or skinning a cat? He pressed a hand to his temple and laughed softly to himself -- certain the idiot wouldn’t hear him over the sound of his own shrieking voice. One incantation and it would be over. Flare. What an intoxicating word. It paled only to the dulcet tones of murder. He breathed in slowly to compose himself.
The dead would wake. They would show their fury, and then the man would prove himself useful or die. If Kuja could manage Brahne then he could manage this.
”Do you hear them?” Kuja’s smile undercut his warning. What a tragedy that the man’s song would be interrupted. He could have lamented it to the sky. ”The dead. They’re rising from below.”
Without that shrieking voice to cover it, he could hear their scratches drawing closer. Their rotten feet slipped wetly against aged stone. Teeth gnashed on loose-hinged jaws. Kuja stopped to make space between him and his ill-fitting guardian, crossing his arms and watching with only a mild interest. He kept one hand slightly raised. He would not risk his life on the bumbling skills of an idiot.
”I’ve prepared my notes,” he said as the sounds swarmed ever closer. ”Shall we witness this living legend?”
