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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Over a full day had passed since Gilgamesh and his traveling partner, a nameless samurai warrior and leader to a band of amateur thieves, left the bustling city of Torensten, during which they had participated in the annual romantic festival called the Voyage de Amour. Events got wildly out of hand for the two of them, namely for the latter, who had tried goading the crimson-clad moron into winning a cultural scavenger hunt as part of a mild prank, only to be left sorely disappointed in just how inconceivably stupid Gilgamesh was throughout the whole affair.
Worse yet, a woman by the name of Quistis Trepe got wrapped up in his madcap antics, which compelled the rōnin to compensate her for having displayed an immense amount of grace under the crushing pressure that was Gilgamesh's idiocy. Which would have been fine, had it not been Gilgamesh's wallet he had gifted to her.
But, unbeknownst to the drifter, the swordsman had actually held on to the gil coins he tried to use back when he first attempted to ambush him. Apparently, there was a decent amount of money in there, as well, which was certainly news to him, to say the least.
In hindsight, his petty joke was a terrible idea.
Now they were broke, starving for food, and completely without a sense of direction. ”You know, this could have all been avoided if you just kept your grubby mitts off my purse!” shouted Gilgamesh, still fuming over the incident. An awful groan erupts from the pit of his stomach, reminding him of his waxing hunger.
Annoyed, the smaller warrior lets out a sedate scoff, ”Yes, yes, I understand,” he said, ”you've told me eight times now...” Exactly why he was keeping count, he didn't comprehend, either. ”To be rather forward here, I don't appreciate this level of hypocrisy being thrown at me.” Hadn't he also tried to rob him and his men when they first met?
”Read the room, pal; you're the one who got us into this mess!” Gilgamesh bites back, in a rare instance of him actually being correct about something. For once. Hopefully, Miss Trepe was far more honorable than this sticky-fingered filcher was, but the likelihood of him ever getting to see his pouch of cash again seemed pretty low, even if she did the noble thing and kept it safe until such a time that it could be returned.
”And I take full responsibility for it, yes,” the rōnin admits, rolling his eyes before continuing, ”however, you terrorized an innocent woman. I felt it was only fair to reward her for putting up with your insufferable behavior.” Honor before reason? That might have been an acceptable modus operandi, had he exercised proper forethought before acting on this decision.
”Don't shift this back on me, buster! I'll mop the floor with you and ring you out to dry!” Gilgamesh threatened, provoking a disinterested sigh from his companion. Thinking he had intimidated him into silence (which couldn't be more untrue) the dimwitted warrior folds both of his trunk-like arms into his barrel-shaped chest. ”Hrmph. S'what I thought...”
”Speaking of which,” the samurai piped up, drawing out an irritated glare from Gilgamesh in the process, ”it seems we're fast approaching the Pale Coast.”
Taking a moment to pull himself out of his own frustration and examine the surroundings, indeed Gilgamesh had come to recognize that they were no longer within Torensten's vicinity, and the growing abundance of a white powdery sand puts further emphasis on the differences between both venues. Tropical palms lined the beaches as crystal blue waters from the great cerulean sea splashed and foamed at the sand's edge.
Spending few seconds gazing at the vast deep blue, an idea crossed the weapon collector's mind. ”Hey, what happened to your goon platoon? Why not get them to steal a bunch of food for us?” Ohmigod, Gilgamesh, you can't just go around telling people to steal stuff!
His ludicrous suggestion is enough to cause the nameless man to laugh aloud, although it was ambiguous as to whether his reaction was out of a genuine sense of elation, or some kind of barely-concealed aggravation. "My men are doing their jobs as I have dictated. They're not your personal army, you belligerent oaf." See, this guy gets it. Sort of? I think...
”How are we going to feed ourselves, then!?” Nobody could possibly be this stupid...
”There's fish everywhere, Gilgamesh. There's fruit, everywhere. There's trees with nuts, everywhere,” said the drifter. He probably didn't need any of the third option; guy was plenty nuts as it was, already. ”How is it that a warrior of your talent has survived without a working knowledge of the most rudimentary survival skills?”
This was going to be a long day, he could already tell...
open! ● two broke dudes, straight outta torensten ● 802 WORDS
Post by Edward Chris von Muir on Jun 3, 2021 15:29:31 GMT -6
So I followed a ghost of a king, but the voice of fire wasn't coming from a ghost no more
He was at odds with his surroundings, his tunic a blotch of red against the white sands, ambling the shore barefoot with a song on his tongue. A harp was girded at his back; at his left hip rested a Mythril knife, hidden 'neath the folds of his cape. He carried a small pail in one hand and his boots in the other. A drifter—an outlander some would spat in the North—who had gotten stares from the warriors in the nearby resort, aptly named The Hero’s Haven, when he had crossed the threshold and inquired about boarding.
“You’re unlike most I’ve seen,” the man behind the counter had said, eyes sweeping over the bard. He was in his late thirties, all angles and scarred from past skirmishes. “But my mother said warriors come in all shapes and sizes.”
Edward had merely smiled, inclined his head, and gave his thanks.
Setting his boots and pail aside, Edward hummed, unslung his harp from his shoulder followed by his cape. Deft fingers nestled his harp within the fabric, protecting the instrument from wind and water and sand. Satisfied with his work, he rose, snatched the nearby pail and approached the frothing sea. He had offered his services more ways than one to the resort.
He sang as he shifted sands in search scallops, his voice carried by the surging ocean. The sun crept higher in the sky. Edward continued his quest, even when his pail was leaden with the local cuisine.
His long fingers clasped around another shell and a small smile softened his features even as his eyes fixated forward, as if seeing something far-off beneath the swirling water. Images of the head cook, Lian, walking hand-in-hand with a fair maid, a pearl hugging the hollow of her throat. Warmth spread through his chest, making his heart fluttered. This one was special. This, he knew. Absently, Edward tucked the scallop in his pocket. The inkling he had been following began to fade, signifying this was what he sought.
Voices. From his position, kneeling within the ocean froth, the bard looked up, eyes suddenly bright. Had he heard a snippet of a conversation or was the ghosts of his thoughts haunting him once more? The ocean rolled and receded in a rhythm not unlike the first plucking of strings. For a moment, Edward let the sound roll over and calm him until a bellow broke the tempo. He was not mistaken.
Two. Keen eyes held fast to the approaching strangers. Both were tall, imposing. Edward kept his knife sheathed. It would bode ill to flash steel, even unintentionally. Especially to warriors. And, by the last snippet he caught, both were classified as such.
“Hoy!” he said, his voice carried on the wind. He rose, facing them. With his hair a-tizzy and his trousers soaked from knees down, clasping a pail filled with scallops, he appeared as a ragamuffin to the untrained eye. The image he aimed to cultivate as it kept one from getting mugged.
The ocean swelled about his legs with the upcoming tide. His lilting voice giving away his profession as he said, “Would you like a share of the bounty I have?” To emphasis his point, he raised the pail with a sun flushed hand. “It might not be much, but it shall fill your stomachs nonetheless.”
Just as he was about to throw his hands up in defeat, Gilgamesh found his attention seized by the voice of a youngster in the distance, prompting a strained squint, lips scrunching into an exaggerated frown. ”Am I being deceived, or is that a person over yonder?” he asked aloud, lifting a hand to his brow.
”It would appear so,” said the swordsman with no name. He tucks both arms into one another and presses them against his chest, the sleeves of his haori swaying in the balmy breeze. ”they look the roving, slovenly sort.” Gilgamesh instantly scowled. There went his plan to kidnap the poor fellow and exchange him for a handsome ransom...
Heh. That rhymed.
When the distance between the trio had finally closed, the traveling warriors could get a proper look at the newcomer in his entirety. A boy dressed in clothes that had seen better days, half logged with seawater and marred by patches of faded color, accentuated by the presence of a stringed instrument of sorts, one the rōnin had recognized was a harp.
In his hand, a bucket of scallops, freshly dug up from the sandy beaches. Gilgamesh cannot fathom how this vagabond could procure so many molluscs in a single sitting, never once taking into account the actual amount of work that went into finding them. This homeless person must have the luck of the gods!
And he was offering them a sample?! ”Ah! You are truly heaven sent, my itinerant friend! Blessings of good fortune upon you forever!” Gilgamesh cried out, spontaneously lunging for the youth so that he could sweep him up in a dramatic bear hug. ”I thoroughly wish I had the coin to provide you, but your generosity shan't go unnoticed!” Here's hoping his bones were resilient to several hundred pounds of sweaty muscles...
The rōnin rolled his eyes. ”You have to let him give us the scallops first...” He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed, then shrugged before continuing on, ”Please, forgive my companion, he's, regrettably, oatmeal from the neck up.” He then bowed slightly forward, as a gesture of formal courtesy. ”Anything you might have to spare will be much appreciated. Unfortunately... he is correct. We are without a way to compensate you for your kindness.”
Post by Edward Chris von Muir on Nov 11, 2021 8:06:57 GMT -6
so i followed the ghost of a king
He was swooped into a bone crushing hug, having been swept quite literally from his feet. He tensed. Not for fear of his dagger being discovered beneath the folds of his cape, but from the shock of genuine appreciation. How long had it been since someone hugged him? Ruling a nation had left little room for physical affection. Most dared not to touch a king. Sure, Harley’s shoulder brushed his sometimes while they walked, yet that was not the same.
So that left—the bucket nearly fell from nerveless fingers. Anna. While a harden warrior was not gentle as his wife—the ache in his muscles were a testament to that—the warmth was welcomed nonetheless. Laughter bubbled from his lips to conceal the fact he did not want it to end. Nonetheless, he found himself returned to the sands, the warmth slipping from his limbs. Despite himself, he shivered.
Thankfully, the rōnin’s words provided a distraction. “You needn’t worry,” he said, a smile still playing on his lips. “I have more than enough to go around.” Plus, the pearl would be more than enough compensation to make up for a meager provision. “Not to mention the means to charm more.” Edward hoped his joke was not taken literally. He did not have the gift of summoning.
He crossed the white sand toward his discarded gear and set the bucket down. “The Hero’s Haven has a fair host.” Settling on the sand, the king began unfurling his pant legs. “While I’m not one who’s often perceived as a warrior”—he reached for his boots, startling a nearby sand-bubbler—"I earned a room nonetheless.” Once finished, his attention returned to the warrior duo. “I’m sure accommodations could be arranged. I could offer my room. I’ve slept under the stars countless times.” Ever the wayfarer, evident by the harp girded at his back.
Despite being the living embodiment of sheer, endless stupidity, not even Gilgamesh was the sort of person who took the generosity of a stranger for granted. And, just like the man he was busy virtually suffocating beneath the weight of his enormous(ly smelly) frame, the swordsman had gone far too many moons without feeling the affections of another individual. Granted, the starving buffoon had no clue he was in the presence of royalty, but, then again, he viewed everyone as equals, on the field of battle, and away from it. Even if nobody else shared this sentiment, if only for the fear of being infected by his all-consuming idiocy. But, who would have guessed that both of these adventurers, compelled by their shared sense of wanderlust, had actually yearned for something so profoundly meaningful as a simple hug?
Alas, all good things must come to an end, and so it was true for their embrace, as well—but it took a sharp jab from the nameless rōnin’s elbow to remind Gilgamesh that he needed to relinquish his hold on the young man so that they could actually partake of the scallops he had collected earlier.
The harpist collects himself, then reassures the former samurai with a humorous undertone that he could always collect more. “Your virtuous character honors us, my friend,” he said, nodding affirmatively, “I am more than confident that nature herself shall reward you thricefold.” Upon saying this, he instinctively glances over to Gilgamesh—who thought it perfectly acceptable to try and touch a fiddler crab, only to get snipped on the finger for his blatantly dumb transgression—and grimaces, wondering if his own predicament would ever improve so long as he traveled with this oaf.
Seeing as how both of Gilgamesh’s brain cells were currently preoccupied with fighting over third place, the rōnin takes it upon his shoulders to entertain their new acquaintance for him, listening intently as the stranger revealed the name of a nearby inn: The Hero’s Haven. If he could recall correctly, only those who can test their mettle were allowed room and board there. “How so?” he asked. “It is not as though your instrument is resilient enough to be used as a melee weapon,” He then points to the young man with a knowing half-smirk, “which leads me to suspect that you are not entirely unarmed.” It wasn’t that great of a stretch to presume this; only a fool, or Gilgamesh, would venture out into the wilderness without a weapon.
Hearing only the tail end of his nameless companion’s deduction, Gilgamesh snapped his focus back to the ragamuffin on the sands. Bent and rusty cogs crank and churn as his imagination runs wild with speculations on the fellow’s true identity, and, more importantly, what sort of strength he was attempting to conceal from the world at large. Surely, he must be a warrior of incredible renown to be able to secure lodgings for himself in such an ambiguous fashion! That definitely explains his tatty, disheveled countenance! A most clever disguise for a most clever hero!
Completely missing the whole point of their exchange, which would have resulted in the pair being given a room to stay the night in, Gilgamesh proudly stepped in, as if reminding the other two men that he still existed. “Oh, help myself, I shall, good man! Help myself to the secrets you have hidden under those rags of yours!” Dude, phrasing... “Very deceptive of you, concealing such mighty killing intent beneath the mask of a humble minstrel! But the jig is up now!”
Bemused by Gilgamesh’s abject nonsense, the rōnin scoffed. “Were you even listening to a word any of us were saying?”
The weapon collector just cackled. “From what I understand,” Gilgamesh continued, simultaneously proving the ex-samurai’s point, “we are in the presence of a fearsome and terrifying slayer of men! Why else would he be trying to pass himself off as some guy who plays a weird, stringy-music-thing?”
“It’s a harp, and you know it...”
“Right. That’s a harp...and that’s a dress.” coyly taunted Gilgamesh, pointing to his companion’s floral haori.
Visibly offended, he sweeps a hand from top to bottom for emphasis. “Robe!!”
Feeling satisfied for the most petulant reason imaginable, Gilgamesh turned back to the meek-looking fellow, impossibly confident that he was actually gazing down at a deadly fighter merely pretending the role. “Either way, I simply cannot permit you to be so graciously charitable without repaying it in some fashion. It violates my ethics as a warrior!” Coming from a guy who steals things as a hobby, that’s rich. “Therefore, I propose that we duel one another! Winner takes the room, and the scallops!”
The nameless swordsman pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache build. “Can you stop looking gift horses in the mouth and just take the damned offer?”
“Who died and made you in charge of the No Fun Police?! I’ve gone several threads without a proper challenge, and I’ll be a monkey’s uncle before I let another opportunity like this one slip me by!”
Ramuh, have mercy and please kill me already, I beg you...
