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!
Final Fantasy Adventu is a roleplaying forum inspired by the Final Fantasy series. Images on the site are edited by KUPO of FF:A with all source material belonging to their respective artists (i.e. Square Enix, Pixiv Fantasia, etc). The board lyrics are from the Final Fantasy song "Otherworld" composed by Nobuo Uematsu and arranged by The Black Mages II.
The current skin was made by Pharaoh Leap of Pixel Perfect. Outside of that, individual posts and characters belong to their creators, and we claim no ownership to what which is not ours. Thank you for stopping by.
Post by Laurelin Hawthorne on Sept 29, 2021 16:30:54 GMT -6
there is better rede, magician, then those books upon your shelf
Spearmint wafted from her unattended mug. Nestled in billowing robes befitting her station, the black mage read, seemingly oblivious to the world. Laurelin flipped the page with nary a sound, observant. The shopkeeper was an elderly man, hands pocked from age, frittering about to-and-fro, watering can in hand as he moseyed about the place.
His obsession with plants was equal to his obsession with literature. Despite herself, Laurelin smiled. While she could not fault his hobby, if he continued this path, he’d have a greenhouse instead of a bookstore. Judging by how tender he worked with them, perhaps that would be the best course of action. Even if it would be a shame to lose a comforting environment.
Whether in her parents’ personal libraries, spending countless hours memorizing spells, to her mother’s council records, Laurelin spent many years engrossed with literature. It came as no surprise she would find herself in a bookstore in Torensten. Secondhand shops held treasures. In that regard, they were like magical artifacts. One just had to be vigilant when browsing, patient, persistent in their quest.
And—in her case—it often became an obsession. Something to solve, to master, and to utilize. Every so often her interests strayed. Such as now. Laurelin had never taken an interested in medicine as a kid, as elves seldom fell ill, but her travels had opened her eyes. Her left hand twitched involuntarily, a silent reminder of her ignorance. She vowed to do better.
Placing the medical book down, Laurelin stretched her legs, feeling the unusual sensation of cramped muscles. She grimaced. These mortal pains were a reminder she had much healing to do. If healing was a possibility. No. Laurelin locked her jaw in frustration. She would heal; she had to heal. The book laid out on the table suggested the scars she bore should have faded by now. However, that would have been a typical lightning strike. Laurelin hummed, finger fiddling with the page corner. Hers was the result of a deity.
Perhaps only time would tell, and elves had plenty of time. She lifted her mug and took a sip.
Ah, well, peaceful times never lasts long, right? For a few blissful minutes, the shop was tranquil and quiet. The next moment, a troublesome consumer came in. He was a humanoid-looking-thing, perhaps half Laurelin's height, if not for his yellow conical hat. He only had two yellow eyes visible as his face, while the rest was all dark. He also carried an Oak Staff.
To his credit, the shopkeeper, bless his heart, had been as kind and polite as possible.
The humanoid blinked. "Blu is looking for memories. Blue is told to come here."
"Yes, yes," replied the shopkeeper, clearly exasperated, "What I meant is, is it a diary you are looking for, young man? Or perhaps biographies of famous people? Surely they will provide, err, memories, right?"
The humanoid tilted his head. "Yes."
"Yes, err, yes what?"
"...Yes."
"Okay, I... I don't understand. Please state the book you are looking for again?"
"Blu is collecting memories for a friend."
"Yes you have told me five times already. I mean... Oh by the gods."
Post by Laurelin Hawthorne on Oct 13, 2021 14:22:20 GMT -6
there is better rede, magician, then those books upon your shelf
The note of desperation could be heard a mile away. Rare was the older gentleman afflicted by customers. Even if the subject matter was frowned upon society. To hear him distraught caught her attention, filling the need to lend a hand. Yet when she went to call out to offer help, she paused, her words dying in her throat.
The child bore the robes of an apprentice mage of her world, down the wide brim hat. Laurelin, for once, found herself lacking a response. Did the academy have uniforms, and she had been none the wiser? All the students she had seen denied such tradition.
Forcing herself into action, Laurelin closed the book, got to her feet, and crossed the room. “May I be of assistance,” she said, approaching the bookkeep.
“O-of course, of course. The young man is in search of memories…”
Memories? Laurelin hummed, intrigued. It would seem as if the boy was not from this world (as many others were said to be, if her existence and local rumors could be trusted). “I see. Well, I’ll see what I can do.” With a smile, she turned the child mage. “Let’s talk over in the nook, where it’s quiet. Come along, please.”
Once back at her corner, she pulled the wooden chair out and gestured towards it. “Please, take a seat.” Following her own advice, Laurelin returned to hers. “You seek a rather intriguing subject.”
“Memories are rather tricky,” she began, as if she were talking to her nephews. In some ways, she realized, she was. While seemingly taller and older than Linhart and Eriol, something felt…off. Laurelin felt as if she was missing a piece of the puzzle, something she could not put her finger on. Perhaps it was the strange gap between elven and human developmental years—if this child was human. If not then...
Solutions had to be sought after. “As they’re retained information. As such, information can be learned and recorded in a myriad of ways.” Gracefully, she reached outward to the nearby shelf and plucked the item she sought. “They can be written down and rediscovered in books” —she nudged a weather-beaten softback, pages yellowed and brittle towards the mage— “such as this diary, which is a personal collection of one’s own memories in writing.”
“Your friend,” she leaned forward, resting her chin upon bridged fingers. “Kept a diary.”
@blu Oh, she's trying to puzzle it all out. One step at a time!
