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.
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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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Post by Laurelin Hawthorne on May 15, 2020 11:46:24 GMT -6
In the distance another caravan rolled along the dusty road. Lanterns bobbed like fireflies in the wind, the firelight casting serpentine shadows across the land. Twenty wagons Laurelin counted, drawn by chocobos, leaden with food and supplies and the inept. Scores more of unfamiliar folk trekked alongside the column, their jaunty voices mingled with the evening crickets. Children laughed as they ran amongst the wagons, dodging chocobo and leaping across long-worn tire burrows, in some unspoken game.
Their destination was known to Laurelin, for it mirrored her own goal. The colossal gate jutted from the elsewise undisturbed, swaying lands, a beacon that drew her in like a moth. With her curiosity spiked, she had made her way through the valley by day, the road a ribbon at her left, following Mu paths unknown to man. By nightfall she danced beneath the stars, laughing as sylphs joined in the frolicking, the breeze from their wake tickling her skin and teasing her hair. And though she could tag along with a group, she had chosen elsewise and wished to continue her journey alone.
Turning from the merriment, Laurelin made her way back to her camp. Nearby the small fire lay a mu slept, kicking its legs while it dreamt. With a smile, she skirted the rodent, tossed some more dry twigs to the blaze, and sat with her back against the stonework. Reclaiming her spellbook, she settled to read but paused when she felt a nudge at her elbow. Book aloft in her right hand, Laurelin patted her thigh in unspoken permission.
The mu, having been roused by the fire flaring to life, crawled onto her legs, circling thrice before finding a comfortable position, and laid down on her lap in a tight ball. Laurelin stroked the creature’s fur and received a grateful warble in turn before it fell into a deep sleep. Spellbook in hand, she read in silence. A sylph hovered nearby before coming to rest on her left shoulder, careful not to tangle itself in Laurelin’s silver-blonde hair.
The sun sank on the horizon and the first pinpricks of starlight littered the sky. Dew dampened her breeches. The ancient stone arch chilled her skin. Further down the valley, a flute was playing a haunting melody dedicated to an old god. Still, Laurelin read unfazed, seemingly lost to the world of mortals. A rogue breeze stirred the bluebells and Laurelin’s eyes focused, sharpening.
“I know you linger,” she spoke, serene as a sylph’s wings in flight. Raising her chin she set a level gaze beyond the firelight’s ring, searching, seeking, waiting. “Speak, and enter.”
At first there was no answer from the night. The bluebells chimed and eventually its rustle faded as the swaying of the wind ceased, like children's voices delighting in laughter before moving on to another play. The stars twinkled as if blinking, a secret wink to the wary earth that there was nothing to worry about. Young was the night, young and peaceful. A reminder that not all that dwells in the dark are evil, for the same reason an infant may find comfort inside her blanket, warm with her mother's love.
It might have been so that the elf was mistaken, although this was unlikely, for an elf is a master of the senses.
Coming slowly into the ring of light was a young boy, his steps wary but firm. A long scarf wrapped around his neck, fluttering slightly with the cool night breeze. Clothes practical and rather rugged told stories of adventures on paths less traveled; a lover of the sheets of grasses and roof of a starry sky rather than the easy amenities of a house. His amber eyes were soft and fascinating, like a polished jewel both wise in its years and naive in its gloss. He had traveled on this far-off road, yet there was nary a sign of distress so often seen on people who are lost. No, his was the confidence of someone who knew where his steps were taking him. Perhaps similar as the elf herself, for this boy was unmistakably befriended by nature.
And proof of friendship did he bring. Cradled on his arms were two wee Salamanders. Not more than three starry nights had passed since their eggs cracked open and their minute eyes greeted the world. To the reptiles they belonged, and to this family of monsters it is blessed of hatchlings fully formed, ready to mount their personal fight against the harsh reality of their days the moment they are born. Yet, these two Salamanders were shivering. Snouts closed shut devoid of their usual tongue-licking, while their scales rattled slightly with the vibration of their bodies.
It would not take much to imagine why these two babies and their caretaker would try and disturb an elf in reading.
The boy gave a slight bow as his opening move, acknowledging both the elf as the mistress of the fire and his status as the guest in this circle. Peculiar was how he bowed. Not the well-practiced gesture of a noble he displayed, nor a deeply-ingrained habit of those so cultured. His was a bow with the same quality as how a Ceourl howls and how an Ahriman flies: a natural trait built into his subconscious conduct.
And when he spoke, his voice was like a wind chime over a field of daisies. A voice at once comforting and trusting, plain yet intricate, though a tinge of worry tainted its innocence a little as of present.
"Forgive me for disturbing you, ma'am," The way he projected politeness was fascinating. There was no false pretense in there, only honesty. "I saw your fire and there is no other fire for quite a good distance, so...."
At this his arms were raised, as if trying to attract attention to the two Salamander hatchlings he was cradling, "Will it be too much if we ask to share your fire tonight?"
Laurelin Hawthorne Omigosh your post is so beautiful Argent! So flowing and sweet... I kind of changed Rhew's writing tone in the hope it can at least hold a candle to yours!
She was doing her daily rounds in the Black Mage Village. She checked on the other Genomes and could see them begin to expand their capacity to understand with the black mages of the village. Where Bran Bal had been monotony and felt empty, the village seemed to be taking on a meaning of its own. How long has it been since Terra was destroyed? The light here was not as painful as Garland would have led them to believe. And perhaps there was hope that something would become of the soulless people of Bran Bal. And maybe in time, the black mages and the genomes would be able to live outside of the village and into the world beyond the wood.
She turned to walk down the wooden walkways and to the cemetery of the other black mages that had stopped functioning. She had asked the purpose of this. The ones who did not function most certainly could not appreciate it. But the wise Black Mage told her it was for the one’s that lived. She looked over the cemetery. Would she have to do this one day? To reflect on the genomes that stopped functioning? And what lives did these black mages live? What could one learn from the stories? She thought back to Zidane and Kuja. Both were so vastly different, yet they had so much to teach. The genomes always want to hear the lessons learned. They gave them hope to be alive, after all.
But as she reflected here, she noticed the sun in the sky becoming brighter and brighter. It was more intense than usual as she shielded her eyes. Was this the end? Did they simply bide their time until Gaia came to an end? There was no heat in the light. There was no sensation. She closed her eyes and when she reopened them, she was no longer in the village.
It was suddenly darker out. She realized she was surrounded by a lush valley. She looked around emotionlessly, more curious at this sudden change than afraid. She noticed there was a large gate in the distance. Her eyes looked up at the sky. It was full of stars that were unfamiliar to her. The cool wind blew at her hair, leaving a delicate scent of flora and the faint sound of a melody. Wordlessly she turned and followed down the path. She saw a light in the distance, and then that demanding voice filled the air.
It was not meant for her as she noticed movement in the brush and the silhouette of a moving figure. However, Mikoto saw no reason to hide herself. She needed answers and hiding would not get her any. She walked through the brush with the easy of a cat, but when she reached the fire’s light her sight first found the young man bowing to someone. Mikoto watched strangely at this odd mannerism. She had not seen bowing to anyone before. Another new custom she would need to be acquainted with.
Her blue-green eyes turned to look at the elf. She said nothing as she moved closer to the two. But she noticed the elf had pointed ears, much like Garland. Was she his predecessor? She knew enough about conversation etiquette now to wait to be addressed. She spoke nothing as she stood there in quiet grace. Studying the elf and her ears, then eyes wandering to the salamanders and sylph. These were all knew creatures in her eyes. If anything, even though she wore no emotion on her face, one could tell she was simply observing. She took no notice on the awkwardness, as she waited her turn to speak.
Post by Laurelin Hawthorne on Jun 8, 2020 22:11:13 GMT -6
The silence stretched and still Laurelin sat, unmoved, her muscles taut, the quiet before the storm. Movement disturbed the sylphs at play and the swaying of grass in their wake, and she could detect two separate patterns. Both light-footed. One is well-traveled. The other not so much.
The first to breach the magical wards had tousled hair like a wave breaching the shoreline and amber eyes which caught the firelight like honey. He cradled a bundle in his slim arms. Laurelin’s heart ached at the sight. Two Salamanders, scarcely three nights old, frigid to their cores. It was clear as the sky above what the boy was to ask, and would open her fire.
As the boy bowed, the wards wobbled again, sending a chill down Laurelin’s spine, gooseflesh spreading across her arms as the newcomer entered in their midsts. If he was akin to the sea, then she was the land beside the water. Her hair was like ripened wheat, drawing attention to her deep, hollow aquatic eyes. Had she been her brother, Linhart, eerily akin to the mortal man he was named after, or Rosaria, far too young to understand the ways of subtly, she would have blurted about the stranger’s tail. Yet Laurelin did not speak.
For the boy’s words drew her from the appendage. Eyes softening, she answered, “None at all.” As he rose from his bow, she gave a flick of her wrist, shutting her grimoire with well-performed ease while lifting her right hand in a mock gesture of royalty, mirth a-twinkle in her eyes. “Would thee prefer to kiss thine hand, Sir Knight, in a seal of good faith?”
As swift as she had raised her hand, she lowered it, a silver-chimed laugh accompanying the action. “There is no need for such formalities! In this circle, we are equal. Come, and be welcomed.”
“Oh. We should not exclude our basic manners.” Tilting her head in the direction of the girl, she asked, “Is it not customary to offer one’s name in place of a gift?” Her smile never faltered. “Allow me to extend the olive branch,” she began, her attention on both parties, “I’m Laurelin.”
Gently, she shifted, as to not disturb the resting Mu, and snatched her satchel from its resting place upon the stonework. “I presume it’s best said both of you prefer as little as company as possible, hmm? Else wise, I’d walk you to the merriment down below.” She shrugged her shoulder, spurring the sylph’s attention. “Or, I could offer you a guide.”
Like a wave sloshing across the empty sands the boy’s honey-lighted eyes was swept in delight as he realized that his plea of help had been accepted. A playful smile on his face, an understanding gesture that he knew what was required of him the moment the host’s hand were outstretched in invitation. Alas, his small steps too slow to caught her hand, for the sylvan lady withdrew hers in a declaration of jest.
Happy was the boy, and as easy as the wind. With nary a step out of sync he reached near the lady’s hand, his gesture mentioned his intentions as clear as the fire burning near, words spoken in a knightly tone mingled with his characteristic youthfulness, an amusing sound that made even the sylphs laughed. “Ah, but would it gladden this heart of mine for the private weal of kissing thy hand, O noble lady of the forest," Perfect was his pronounciation. "For such a boon is not given lightly, and blessed will be this unworthy lips to touch the fair hand of thee.” And indeed, should he be allowed, the gallant small knight would ceremoniously stooped low to kiss his host’s hand. A seal of good faith, an acknowledgment of supplication, glorified in its noble intentions.
Nary a time after that which he wasted to bring his escorts to the fire. The warmth of life was creeping back to the wee Salamanders, and with it the easy language of the boy, no longer the vernacular of a knight he had so profoundly displayed. “Thanks for allowing us to stay, Ma’am. I stumbled upon these poor babies whose nest had been raided by mercenaries hired to eradicate monsters. Usually, newly born salamanders are provided a flame by their parents. These poor lizardling had no such luck... “
Sadness. Sadness was clear, permeating his words like a poison, clouding his tone with unwarranted wariness.Sadness upon the fate not of his own: a sadness only an empathic soul can feel. “And you can call me Rhew, Ma’am. And the same goes to you.” And his head was turned towards the Genome, smiling. “You are new, are you not? Like these salamanders: newly born to this world. But you are far from defenseless, I presume,” Topped with mysterious but gentle smile, an inviting clue to unknown knowledge acquired but none easily shared. “Who should we call you?”
With doleful gaze he watched Laurelin picked up her satchel and declared that she found them would rather have as little company as possible. Strange. The boy had wished for the lady to stay and kept the fire lit and kept them company. If she had other matters to attend to, however, who was he to say otherwise? “I’d much appreciate your company, Ma’am, while these Salamanders are restored to health. Though I do understand if you have more pressing matters to attend to…” Was it loneliness which colored his voice? “Safe journey then, Ma’am. And thank you for the fire.”
Mikoto silently observed the way the two people spoke to each other. Their speech patterns were certainly far different than what she was accustomed to. Instead of the monotone scientific terminology being spouted, their words had a more rhythmic pattern to it. It felt warm compared to the cold bluntness of her people. And what was this seal of faith? But just as the long-eared person raised her delicate hand, the green-haired boy pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Mikoto tilted her head to the side, her hands clasped behind her back. Was she supposed to offer her hand too? Or was it just the hostess?
She would not need to decide as the hostess lowered her own hand. The male provided the salamanders their warmth by placing them by the fire. Then, the blond woman finally turned to the curious genome. Teal eyes would lift to look up at her. Her head tilted to the side. She had barely been on this planet when it seemed she was being asked for her name. A designation that Garland claimed had no meaning. At least it seemed to have some use here. Mikoto bluntly answered her question, not realizing it was rhetorical. “Terra has no exchanges of names.” Perhaps this person was no acquaintance of Garland after all. However, after a little hesitation, Mikoto stirred, her tail curling curiously behind her. “Laurelin. Rhew.” Mikoto tried the foreign names slowly on her tongue. Then she responded in the same quiet voice, devoid of much emotion. “My name is Mikoto.”
Rhew brought her attention back to the salamanders. She did not understand the empathy he felt. She simply had not seen someone be warm to something else. “What’s the point in helping these creatures?” Her words were direct and almost sounded cynical. Yet, there was that strange quietness of needing to understand as well. What was this relationship Rhew had with the creatures around them. Why did he help them survive unless there was a benefit to reap?
She shifted slightly, her hands by her side. Was it obvious she was new to this world? It was true. Though she was new to living planets in general. “I was recently teleported to this world.” Her eyes studied Laurelin curiously. “Do you know of Garland?” She was still trying to fathom how she was brought here. And though she had seen no other like Garland, there was a possibility more like him existed. After hearing Laurelin’s words, she doubted she was associated. Even more, she could feel the no whisp of Terran soul in Laurelin. But a direct answer would be welcomed.
“…Merriment…?” Her brows knitted together slightly as she looked down where the hostess seemed to direct her attention. She leaned slightly forward to try to get a better view, hair falling over her shoulders. She could hear the rhythmic sounds of bells and hollow instruments, mingled with the voices of happy people. These were sounds she was unfamiliar with. What were they doing? Her head tilted toward the sound. Perhaps to hear them better? Or perhaps trying hard to understand. “A guide? I have little to offer in return.” Black mages taught that in exchange for a service, one provided a currency of some sort. Mikoto was hesitant to accept the offer for a guide. But her interest in seeing the people below was clear and a guide would make the transition easier. She felt no different than the salamanders at the fire. Why would they help her?
