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
Welcome one and all to our beautiful new skin! This marks the visual era of Adventu 4.0, our 4th and by far best design we've had. 3.0 suited our needs for a very long time, but as things are evolving around the site (and all for the better thanks to all of you), it was time for a new, sleek change. The Resource Site celebrity Pharaoh Leep was the amazing mastermind behind this with minor collaborations from your resident moogle. It's one-of-a-kind and suited specifically for Adventu. Click the image for a super easy new skin guide for a visual tour!
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Ardyn let out a long, dreadful sigh. So she was hiding. Or was she simply nowhere to be found? His eyes wandered across the wolf-laden fur before pausing on…was that blood? He knelt beside it, touching it lightly with only his fingertip. Yes, this was most certainly blood -- and a much thinner, redder blood than the dried, coagulated blood of the dead. It had pooled here beneath his feet and then trailed off on in drops and streams towards the door.
Aranea had most certainly been here, and wherever she was now, she was gravely injured. ”To a wolf? Really? And here I thought you more capable than that.” Ardyn sighed and shook his head before starting towards the open door. The door led to a crumbled, ancient hall dimly lit by flickering torchlight. He kept his attention towards the path beneath him and the blood trailing like bread crumbs after his prey.
Far ahead of him there was a muffled crack and a heavy, bodily thump. Ardyn paused for only a moment before continuing forward. ”I do hope you haven’t died…” he called around the corner. ”That would be a most undignified way to go.” But as he approached the sound, he found that his assumption might have been closer than he’d hoped. There, curled in a black heap of leather armor, was Commodore Aranea -- blood pooling from a make-shift bandage on her arm. Ardyn blinked in surprise. ”Ah,” he couldn’t help but mutter to himself. ”What a pity.”
He approached her carefully -- half expecting that she’d jump to her feet any moment, but she never did. Her face was ghastly pale in the torchlight, her lips slightly parted. Ardyn nudged her shoulder with the tip of his boot and she rolled over like a ragdoll onto her back. Her exposed stomach rose and fell in time with shallow breaths.
”The fire of Niflheim. The Commodore of the North. Daemon-Slayer Aranea...” The words were like poison dripping from his tongue. Oh, he’d heard the stories of her feats during the Starscourge. He’d heard the hope it had brought the hopeless people of Lucis and he’d heard rumor that she’d planned to face him. Of course, she never had. She’d always been smarter than to throw her life away. ”How the mighty have fallen.”
He nudged her with his boot one more time for good measure before pacing past her, eyeing the ceiling thoughtfully. If he left her here, she’d surely die -- and by her own mistakes at that. He had absolutely no obligation to end her life or save it. Yet here she was. At his mercy. And hadn’t he thought of plans for her? Now, that certainly wouldn’t do. A dead woman couldn’t pass on a message.
Well. She could. But he’d have to either haul her body elsewhere or animate it with daemons, and he didn’t quite have the energy for that. As amusing as it would be to catapult her corpse at Noctis and his friends, he had no way of finding them at the moment. So for now…
He needed something to follow. A living something. How tiresome.
Ardyn turned on his heel to face her. Lifeless. At his mercy. Dare he infect her with his corruption? His eyes caught on old scars come to light beneath ruined armor. No. Aranea had the knowledge and experience to recognize his plague for what it was -- and the resolve to end her life herself if she couldn’t find a cure. She would never endanger others by wandering into their midst when her blood was a weapon. No, for this, he needed her alive and well.
Once again, Ardyn would play the part of a savior. At least for now.
It didn’t take much. He pulled a rather mundane looking feather from his pocket and touched at it lightly. It was a divine gift -- the revival of the near dead. Only the line of Lucis blessed by the Astrals were worthy of wielding such a sacred power. Unfortunately, the Astrals had never been the best judges of character. Ardyn charged the feather with holy magic before tossing it almost carelessly over his shoulder. It drifted down until it touched the unconscious woman and it pulsed across her body in a flash of yellow and red. It would awaken her and tend to her most pressing wounds, but only barely. He didn’t want her strong enough to fight. Just strong enough to drag herself limping from the depths.
With this deed done, Ardyn sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed and head tossed carelessly to the side. ”And what am I to do with you now…?”
Somethin' 'bout you makes me feel like a dangerous Woman
Death wasn't something Aranea had stopped to ponder on much. It was less an idea to her and more of an action in which she was the usual cause. Many a creature, daemon, and occasional human had met their end at her spear's end and the most Aranea had thought on it was how was she were to get the blood or worse off her armor. Here she was though at the precipice of her own passage. She hadn't thought herself to go this way, but thinking on it, if she were conscious she would have laughed. How else would she have gone but struck down in battle. Alone. Good. She wouldn't want anyone crying over her anyway; she'd probably just roll her eyes at whoever it was that would miss her and tell them to get a grip.
But she did not die in that dark hallway. Before she could think her final thoughts, a warmness surrounded her. At first, Aranea thought it was her entering a place of day where there was no night. No starscourge. No more sorrows for the fallen. Instead the idea was taken from her like a candle's flame being extinguished. She could feel her wounds and the horrible pain, but somehow it was slowly beginning to lessen. She felt the wound close but not much more. She ached worse than any aches she had known. Aranea wasn't dead but she wasn't well either.
As her consciousness slowly returned, she felt at where her tourniquet was but recoiled with a hiss. Somehow, miraculously, it had closed, but even now she knew that a disgusting scar would form there. A reminder of her own mortality; a reminder of her own lack of caution. She felt dizzy as her eyes fluttered open. The room was dark but for torchlight, but it swam around her all the same. She had lost a lot of blood. Too much blood for her to be here. What had happened? Had one of the monks found her broken and bruised and failed in her mission and come to her aid? Had divine intervention lent a gentle hand?
”And what am I to do with you now…?”
No. He'd found her. The sound of Ardyn's voice cause her to swivel her neck towards the source which was a mistake. She groaned as all the muscles in her body screamed at her not to move and to just lie there, to rest. She'd be damned though if he thought to finish her this way. With all the strength she could muster, she felt for her spear and the nearest wall. Aranea grunted and grimaced as she forced herself to sit up. Using her spear to support the entirety of her weight, Aranea slowly rose using the wall behind her as additional support. She knew she shouldn't be straining herself this hard, but she also wouldn't give Ardyn any self gloating satisfaction. If he were to kill her, she would die standing up.
She managed it but only barely. Her knees threatened to buckle at a moment's notice and her grip on her spear shook as though she was overcome with tremors. Aranea gritted her teeth with resolve as she surveyed the room for Ardyn finding him across the hall from her leaning against the wall as though he were watching an interesting plaything. He must have watched her struggle to get up, and it made her sick.
She was at an impasse. She could barely stand let alone run again with her body just barely functioning. She refused to show the man fear and so responded her throat barely pumping out the words between coughs specked with blood In the best non caring tone she could muster, she spat out "Beats me. Guess we'll find out."
Aranea awoke. It wasn’t a graceful transition with fluttering eyes and muttered words. No, it all happened all at once. One moment she was peacefully and blessedly quiet and the next she jerked into consciousness with a jagged gasp and a sharp grab at her wounds. Her eyes fluttered open and he saw the questions there. Questions that he carelessly answered.
She froze at his voice. Oh, how he loved unwanted introductions.
Even at the brink of death, Aranea refused to suffer his presence lying down. She grit her teeth, fought against groans and whimpers of pain, and slowly -- ever so slowly -- forced herself to her feet. With the task done, she stood before him pale and trembling with her weight supported by the shaft of her spear. She was forceful. She was defiant.
She was completely helpless.
”Beats me,” she answered through a wet cough into the back of her hand. ”Guess we’ll find out.”
Ardyn chuckled from where he stood several feet away against the opposing wall. ”We most certainly shall,” he said with a slow shake of his head. He pushed off from the wall and ambled towards her one step at a time. ”Truth be told, I’ve never known quite what to do with you. Oh, if you’d only remained with Niflheim then the daemons would have overtaken you, of course, but then you just had to run off and make nice with the prince…”
He didn’t telegraph his intentions. He hardly even looked at her. One moment he was musing several feet away and the next he appeared before her, smirking as he thrust his clenched fist beneath her rib cage. With one hand, he twisted the spear from her grip and tossed it carelessly down the hall. With the other, he kept her upright, half-pinned against the opposing wall. ”It would be so easy to kill you.” His smile was slow, close, and dripping with venom. His grip on her tightened and he tossed her to side, letting her fall to the ground like an unwanted plaything. ”But I think I far prefer you alive. It gives a little extra challenge, but only a little.”
He turned away from her and took several steps in the opposing direction before pausing, head tilted to consider the darkness. ”Oh, it just occurred to me,” he started slowly. ”I suppose this makes us even for that whole nasty business of hunting my daemons? It was a trifling matter after all. It’s hardly as though you made an ounce of difference.” Ardyn shook his head again before reaching once more into his coat pocket. Inside, he found a vial of innocuous liquid only a little thicker than water. Once more, he touched at the glass and felt its magic activate. He set it on the ground where he stood several painstaking feet away from her. If she wanted the potion, she’d have to crawl to it.
”If we meet again, try to entertain me. I’m so busy after all. I’d rather not dally with detours that have obvious ends.” He glanced over his shoulder to look at her once more. He gave a little wave of his fingers. ”Until then. May the darkness find you well as you scuttle into it.” He chuckled to himself before starting forth. Deeper into the labyrinth and perhaps something of use to him. As he went, he called one last word of advice over his shoulder. ”And perhaps you shouldn’t come alone next time.”
It was his hope, at least. For now, he would start into the shadows. Watch her with the eyes of daemons as well as his own. He was used to keeping others within his view. Used to lurking in the dark like a monster waiting for the right moment to strike. For what was what Ardyn was -- what the world had made of him so very long ago.
Somethin' 'bout you makes me feel like a dangerous Woman
She was pleased with herself even if Ardyn wasn't. If he was going to kill her now, he wouldn't see her beg or plead. She had begun to spout off another string of insults as he sauntered about before her breath was forcibly taken from her by his fist in her gut. Aranea hardly had time to react before he support was taken from her and Ardyn's rancid rotting breath befouled her air. If she had the breath she would have told him he should get that checked out, but as it was the only reason she stood was because he allowed it with his fist.
Before she could muster the spit to hurl in his face, Aranea was launched to the side as Ardyn continued his monologue. Her already broken nose twisted in a new direction and she swore one of her teeth chipped against the hard cold stone that constituted a floor. Even here as he lauded life and death over her, Aranea could hardly listen to what he had to say. Partly because she was using all her energy to push her body from the floor and the other because everything he had ever said to her had made her want to forcibly expunge the contents of her stomach.
Her knuckles bled as she pushed herself off the ground staring the man before her. Aranea gritted her sore jaw and teeth as he insulted her. One small mistake on her part and he thought himself better than her. But hadn't he always. As he disappeared into the shadows with his usual full of himself cryptic warning, Aranea eyed the potion he had left for her. She almost crawled towards the vial; her body begged her to scuttle forward for the sweet release from the pain she was in. She didn't though. She'd be damned before she accepted anything else from that terror. She'd rather die...again?
Aranea watched the darkness for several minutes waiting for Ardyn to return with the killing blow. He didn't though. Aranea crawled to her spear when she felt like he had left her to own devices. Once again she slowly made her way back to her feet. Exhausted and glancing once more back at the mocking potion, she sneered but regretted it immediately as the mashed bones in her nose ground in all the wrong ways. Leaning against the wall she slowly began walking away to lap at her wounds.
Aranea made her way through the labyrinth of catacombs using a technique she had learned long ago, a different lifetime ago almost, of using her left hand and following the walls around like she had in the hedge mazes of her childhood. Her pace was slow and heavy and she had to stop many times as the burden of staying upright caught up with her. Every second was tense as she worried about the other evil lurking about with the demon wolves. But as she trudged about, she thought maybe the scent of death hung to her like an invisibility cloak or at least she hoped so in a perverse way.
Hours later she saw light once more and an obstacle she hadn't thought about: stairs. Taking a deep and despairing sigh Aranea sat herself on the cold stone and began slowly scooching herself up the steps one at a time. At least no one saw her do this. Even in her weakened state she'd probably warn whomever that if they ever spoke of this they'd have an ass whooping coming. Still she made it to the top of the stairs and to a door.
Using the last of her strength and used all her weight to open the stubborn door falling out into a crowded and lit hallway. Much to do was made of the woman bursting through the catacombs half dead on the carpet. The monks were called and before passing out again Aranea managed to give them this small warning, "Your problem is bigger than I thought."
