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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The sun was blocked by the World Sight as it began its descent, leaving a slow chill in its wake. The tower in the distance said to look over all the land. It reminded him of the Crystal Tower back home. Well, mostly the Palace of the Dead. Or Heaven on High. Or Eureka Othros. Depending on whether what he heard was true or not. He watched it curiously, trying to make sense of its impossible shapes. His mind could only briefly wander to what possibly lay within. The surrounding area gave him an idea. Machines. Lots and lots of machines. But he could work with that, he'd dealt with much worse. The idea of fantasizing and day dreaming proved a decent enough distraction, at least when the plausible was in fact, in front of him. It reminded him of better days, when things were simpler and made more sense. You got a band together, went into some ancient place, and came out with a good story and maybe some good loot. The story was more important.
It would be the perfect place to take his mind off things. Perfect place for an adventure. Ragnabawk made a noise, clearly starting to get impatient. For all the grief Alex complained about, it was clear that Ragnabawk may as well have been a reflection of his master, and all that entailed. Alex at times still believed he should have given the bird something more dignified for a name. Like, Shadowfax, or Aslan, or something of that nature. Alas, Ragnabawk was something of a long running trend. He wondered how the cat was doing back home in Tural. At least Ragnabawk rolled off the tongue. Catfurdammewrung, not so much. Maybe they'd found a hunter that gave them a better name, too. And they got to go and have great adventures. Maybe that was what he needed, at the end of all this. Just fuck off and go on an adventure. It was what he was good at.
Just... who would he take with him? The thought brought a frown to his lips. That was the major issue; who would he even take with him? Would he just go himself? He'd done it before, back home. He'd made more than one trek through the Palace of the Dead on his own. He'd enjoyed the view in Heaven on High too much to go only once, and Eureka Othros, well, he didn't really need an excuse to ransack the Crystal Tower. And G'raha never seemed to mind. Rarely did the others want to come. Still, it was a lonely experience, when you didn't have someone to talk to by the campfire, and Ragnabawk was only ever one to argue when he was around.
All he could do at the moment was stare, for what seemed like hours to him. He finally heeded Ragnabawk and dismounted. Countless ideas fluctuated inside his head that, for a brief bit, Alex actually felt like himself again. Of course, that couldn't last, now could it?
[attr=class,bulk] Barnabas had finally left the desert to see what else this world had to offer. As it stood though, travel was certainly much slower than it had been while he was king of Waloed. He no longer had access to warships or caravans or even a reliable steed. The chocobo that he had taken from a dead man as soon as he had arrived on Zephon would have to do. The bird didn’t seem to mind that he had slain its previous master as long as he kept it well-fed and rested. Apparently an animal’s loyalty could be even more fickle than a human’s.
It took a few days of traveling by night to avoid the desert heat before the sand faded and greenery began cropping up around them. The plant life certainly put the chocobo in a better mood, but for Barnabas’ part, he found the solo journey to be strange. It wasn’t bad per se—he’d always valued his solitude—but he hadn’t truly been alone in a very long time. Not since he’d awakened as Odin’s dominant. People had flocked at his side ever since, like ravenous beasts wanting a scrap of power. And even if he’d sent everyone away, Sleipnir had remained.
It was most strange of all not to sense the egi’s presence.
After a few more days, the landscape changed yet again into towering cliffs and the ruins of an unknown kingdom. Keen to learn more of this world’s history, Barnabas changed course to draw closer to the shelled-out remains, a bit confounded when he encountered metallic creatures that seemed to dwell among them. They were easy enough to dispatch, but he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of something that seemed more machine than flesh. It almost looked like something the fallen would have created back home. Mikkel had already assured him that Ultima did not exist in Zephon, but perhaps a similar god had destroyed this civilization for the same reasons as the fallen on Valisthea? He wasn’t likely to get an answer out here, but he supposed he could always ask at the next town he encountered.
However, there seemed to be a suspicious lack of people in this area of the world. It wasn’t until sunset one evening when Barnabas had been thinking about finding somewhere to camp that he noticed a lone man high on the cliffs above him. Shielding his eyes, the king considered the figure and the chocobo that he was with before deciding to approach. The other man was likely to be gone by the time that Barnabas made his way up there, but thankfully he had a different solution in mind.
Teleporting up to the stranger, Barnabas emerged from a cloud of dark magic as he considered the man up close. “Not many seem to wander this way. Particularly this close to night,” he noted idly by way of introduction. His eyes wandered from the blond man’s armor to the sword at his side. “But I suppose you must be a warrior of sorts.”
As he continued to stare onward, it was only the sudden appearance of a very weird man that threw him off. Jumping at the event, he almost choked. What the fuck? Where did he come from? What was the meaning of this? Oh Gods, he was having flashbacks to Zenos all over again. He blinked, took a breath, and began to think for a moment. An Ascian? The magic was almost their calling card, and as it was, this man already looked like a buffer, bearded Hermes. No. He--Actually, hold on, something like this was completely in Fandaniel's wheel house. That in itself wasn't an issue. Fandaniel was only ever a problem because he had Zenos to go crying to if anything went wrong, and Alex had made it very clear that possessing some shattered god of eternal darkness wasn't going to be enough to even the field. Even if said shattered god was keeping the apocalypse at bay. Right, at least he hadn't known that part.
Still, a warrior? The first place that went for Alex was probably not what the man was assuming as Alex shook his head, getting bad vibes from the guy. "No, I'm a Purple M--Wait, no, you're meaning in general." It quickly occurred to him as he corrected himself. Red Mage, really. Or at least, that was the stone he had, even if he wasn't sure he needed it at this point. But, well, if he could use Red Magic and Blue Magic, then obviously, that made him a Purple Mage. Perfect logic. This, see, was a simple case of Alexander taking it literally. Did he have a Warrior job stone? Yes. Was it on him? No. Alas, this meant that as long as he was here, the ways of the Warrior were lost on him. Unless another one from his world showed up and he just, jacked their stone or something.
The answer was yes. Obviously. The Warrior of Light and Darkness and all that jazz. Still, he didn't feel like introducing himself as such. Sure, more people were finding out about that. But Alex was also slowly realizing that those same people probably didn't believe it either, and there was a part of him that was relieved. He patted Ragnabawk on the side, a quiet signal to send the bird away. As the chocobo huffed and took off in flight, Alex crossed his arms, turning to stare at something else. "I mean, I can defend myself. If that's what you're considering." He eyed the man warily. "So which one are you then? Fandaniel? Or maybe one of the others. Pashtarot? You definitely don't strike me as an Altima or Deudalaphon." Ascian, right? Or maybe... He squinted. "... Ardyn?" He didn't remember Noct telling him what the guy looked like, and Ardyn was just a Clown Shoes Ascian from what he'd heard.. And this guy just felt... off.
[attr=class,bulk] The blond man seemed fairly startled by his arrival, though he recovered quickly. That was to be expected when he’d appeared so suddenly, but to be fair, Barnabas had chosen that type of entrance out of convenience more than a desire to intimidate the stranger. It might have had that effect anyway though, seeing as the other man started to deny that he was a warrior before realizing that he’d meant that as a general comment. “Purple,” he echoed, doing another once-over of the man to ensure he hadn’t missed anything. “And that color…precludes you from being a warrior?”
The first person with a blade that Barnabas had come across, and the man might have been an idiot. That really wasn’t so different from Valisthea though.
The stranger sent his chocobo away, which suggested that he already expected things to escalate. Barnabas himself didn’t have much preference either way yet. If the man turned out to be strong, then this could make for an enjoyable battle, but that was yet to be seen. First he mainly sought information.
The other man confirmed that he could defend himself before asking him a series of strange questions involving his name and which ‘one’ he was. Barnabas raised an eyebrow at that, though his interest was honestly peaked. “Not a one of those names is familiar to me, but I’d like to change that. Who are they?” If something like Odin’s power was held by others in this world, then the king wanted to know about it. Even if it was strange to not have concepts like bearers or dominants. Magic seemed to flow far more freely in other worlds, which was yet another concept that he tried not to think about too closely. It called into question a bit more of god’s power.
“Barnabas Tharmr,” he finally introduced himself, since the blond man had been asking his identity. “I’m afraid that I’ve been here less than a fortnight. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t yet have my bearings.”
The man introduced himself; Barnabas Tharmr and Alex briefly combed through all his memories to see if there was anything that "... Who?" He asked simply. Yeah that name was bringing up nothing, so he obviously wasn't from his world. Or at the least wasn't from his time. God, the whole past lives thing made his world infinitely more complicated than it needed to be. Still, he'd work with it. Alex shook his head. Right, that was his bad, getting him all mixed up. "No, no. In my world, there are warriors and then there are Warriors. You see, warriors are warriors and Warriors are axe wielding barbarians." Obviously. Culture shock. "I'm a Purple Mage. I know magic and blade in equal accord." And everything else, but he didn't have the stones for all that. Literally. He left the rest of his Job Stones back home on Etheirys. So he was screwed there. Maybe his past lives could shore up some of that at least.
Still, none of them? Either he was lying or there were more B Rate Ascians. Neither of them were good. Or maybe he was one of them and he was hoping to get off on Alex being some unintentional hype man. Like hell, he wasn't playing into that. "Also, no. You are far better off not knowing about these people." Everyone was. Everyone would be far better off if the aforementioned would just go crawl into a hole and die, or at least never know the sight of sunlight ever again. Now that he thought about it. It was kind of offensive that Ragnabawk hadn't at least, you know, protested leaving his master to fight some dark teleporting dude all by himself.
At least his armor was neat. He'd give him that.
Alex gave a sigh. This guy was some weirdo of darkness, that much was clear. "Anyway, if you're new here." He cleared his throat, might as well get it out of the way, right? "Welcome to Zephon, where all your dreams come true, and hero and villain from across the cosmos do... something." He trailed off, clapping his hands together in a decidedly bored manner. The effects of glitter scattered all around him as the sound echoed out. He pulled his hands apart, a small rainbow forming between his palms as he gave Barnabas an unenthused stare. Cassandra had once told him that learning those party tricks was a total waste of time. Alex maintained that she had never known what it was like to throw glitter in someone's face before immediately following it up with a Firaga.
He looked around him. "You're in Kahiko Valley, which I'm pretty sure is home to some fallen civilization. If this is where you woke up, then I'm guessing your gods hate you. Or this place does." He'd gotten lucky. He'd woken up near Torensten, and was able to make his way there easily enough. Gotten a job mining, used some of those funds and well, things had progressed from there. And regressed. Thanks, blonde asshole. Alex figured he'd have done fine here, if he had to. But he'd have started off with a sour view of Zephon, rather than just, progressively sliding into that mindset over time.
[attr=class,bulk] The blond man stared at him in confusion when Barnabas introduced himself, and while the king had expected that, he wasn’t a fan of the dismissive way that he then asked ‘who?’ The man definitely had an ego, but Barnabas tried to remind himself that he was still new here. This stranger could be forgiven for not knowing he was a Dominant. “I see that you aren’t from Valisthea,” he said in an effort to be patient, but that was stretched real thin as the other started explaining the differences between warriors and warriors. It was almost like he didn’t realize he’d said the same word twice. “Exactly what part of that makes you purple?” He really shouldn’t have been encouraging him, but at this point Barnabas was honestly curious what made him assign colors to using magic.
He also refused to tell him anymore about the people that he’d mistaken Barnabas for, which made the king quirk an eyebrow. “On the contrary, if they carry Odin’s blessing, then I’d very much like to meet them.” It sounded like they at least channeled dark magic, which might not mean the same thing here as it did back home, but it was a lead worth looking into.
The man also gave him a very unenthused welcome as he conjured up an odd bit of magic that made a rainbow form between his hands. Not for the first time, Barnabas deeply wished that Sleipnir was here to deal with this so he could stand silently off to the side instead. This entire conversation felt beneath him, and yet here they were. “Ah. So that’s where the purple comes in,” he said a bit dryly, glancing at the bottom of the fading rainbow. “Do you find yourself to be a hero then?” Simple concepts, really. Mythos had likely considered himself a savior, and he had murdered countless people in his quest to destroy the crystals. Barnabas himself sought to rescue humanity by returning them to god’s will, but he was under no delusions about the atrocities he’d committed. Hero and villain were relative terms.
Barnabas stiffened when the man made the offhand comment that his gods must have hated him if he’d woken up in Kahiko Valley. It only stung because he’d been thinking the same thing over and over again since he’d first opened his eyes in that desert. “That might be more true than you realize,” he said with a slight upturn of his lips as he glanced down at the ruined buildings on the cliffs below them. “But I’d still hate to waste a second chance at life.” He’d thought originally that either Ultima had denied him paradise or intended him to conquer these new lands in god’s name. Mikkel had presented him a different scenario though—that Ultima had no power here, and that was the most troubling possibility of all. What else was here for him in that case? The only other thing that had ever brought Barnabas joy was the thrill of the fight.
Speaking of which. “If you have any skill with that sword, then what do you say to a duel?” He asked, looking the man over again. It had been too long since his last proper fight with Mythos. “Though I’d appreciate you lending me a weapon for the beginning.” Summoning Zantetsuken would end everything far too quickly, but unfortunately he didn’t regularly carry a steel sword. If he needed one, he usually just borrowed Sleipnir’s, but that was clearly not an option anymore.
Alex's brows quirked at the mention of Valisthea. He actually knew that name. This man was from Clive's world? He wondered how Rosfield was doing. Maybe he'd show up here some time, they could catch up. Maybe actually bring the dog this time. Alex had only gotten to see a simulacrum of the canine forged from Clive's memories. He would've quite loved to meet the real Torgal. He stretched a little, rolling his shoulders. He had been about to explain what purple meant. A simple mix of red and blue, but this Barnabas seemed intent on talking with his funny accent. Alex could understand him easily enough. Two words though were what caught his attention, well and truly. Odin's Blessings. He stopped, and Alex blinked at Barnabas, the rest of the man's words slowly falling away, unacknowledged, if not outright unheard. His lips turned downward ever so slightly, the wheels slowly turning in his head. He was uncharacteristically quiet.
Odin, known in his world as the Dark Divinity. An Elder Primal that roamed the lands, possessing no small amount of dark power. Unique in that he didn't actively temper followers, but his wielder. What was truly strange was that Odin resided in the sword, forcing his consciousness upon whosoever grasped Zantetsuken. Alex had wielded it, ever so briefly, in ,moments of necessity, as he couldn't be tempered, but others had not been so lucky. How many times had he been forced to mercy kill those who came after, who felt the lure of Zantetsuken and thought themselves above its influence? He didn't know how long Barnabas had been waiting for an answer. He merely closed his eyes for just a moment. He inhaled through his nose, and exhaled past his lips. His eyes once again opened, dismissive boredom replaced with a blaze that promised death.
This Barnabas used Odin's same dark power. Counted himself as Odin's blessed. Tempered, Alex guessed. And he had not the means on him to reverse it. Nor would he risk it for one powered by the Dark Divinity. Odin stood on a level far beyond the likes of Ifrit, or Shiva, or Ramuh. Matched only by the likes of Bahamut or Alexander, to play with Odin was to court death. Never mind where Odin's power lay; Barnabas was by no means unarmed, Alex would stake his life on it.
It was the briefest movement of his arm. Aerora. As he used the wind to try and suddenly shove Barnabas away, before twisting it into a finer control. Cassandra could make bigger explosions than he could, but the tricks he could manage were things she could only dream of. The Aerora was only to create distance and set the stage, the true attack came when he simply clenched his fist, and that same Aerora rapidly contracted, coaescling into a vice grip in a quick attempt to crush the man's trachea and be done with it. It was best to kill him before he could have a chance to summon the blade.
[attr=class,bulk] The blond man became…suddenly less talkative than he had been before. Barnabas didn’t mind that necessarily, but the switch was rather jarring with how abrupt it was. He also wasn’t positive when the change had started because he had been too preoccupied with asking the man for a fight. It did seem odd to get no response at all to that question—not that Barnabas was one to judge for leaving people unanswered, but this stranger hadn’t seemed the type until now.
When the man finally looked up as if he’d reached some kind of decision, his eyes were the only warning that Barnabas got before a wind spell suddenly struck him full-force. The man’s gaze had a killing intent that sent a thrill through the king as he was swept backwards by the gale. It was the sort of look that someone had when they were more than just mere talk, and maybe that was why he instinctively raised a hand and summoned Zantetsuken to his grasp in a flash of darkness just as the wind spell closed in at a punishing speed. He could well imagine the sort of damage that would cause if it struck, but thankfully there was nothing he’d yet found that his sword couldn’t cut. At the last second, he slashed the blade through the air, and the attack swept outward and rendered a gash in the spell that he was able to pass through safely before hitting the ground.
Putting a hand to his chest, Barnabas laughed, looking up at the stranger with delight. That spell control would have put Benedikta to shame. Was this what Zephon had to offer? If so, then perhaps starting over here would prove to be more stimulating than he’d originally thought. “Forgive me, warrior. You’ve every right to be angry when I underestimated you. But you’ve earned the right to my true blade. Now come. Show me more of that strength!”
With that, he stepped forward into another dark portal, reappearing closer to the stranger as he swept out with his sword. He wasn’t aiming to kill this early, but Zantetsuken was a powerful blade. He truly hoped this man had more tricks like that up his sleeve.
The spell failed. The sword appeared, slashing it away as the Warrior of Light stared stoically at the man in front of him as he analyzed the situation. His brain reeled through scenarios, conjuring solutions to situations yet unseen. There was no reaction to the blade his hand. Not even the flash of recognition. It was clear that Alex had been expecting the sword to appear. That was it. Without a doubt, that was Zantetsuken. This Barnabas was Odin's chosen, puppet, or host. It looked different, but either it was a different Zantetsuken, or it was simply shifting to match the whims of its current wielder. It didn't matter, he was left to consider his options in the brief moment before the next clash. He wouldn't bother with Silversnake. There was no weapon that could go directly against Zantetsuken, especially when in the hands of its proper owner. He felt the adrenaline begin to rush through his veins, surging his aether through his body, quietly casting Bristle.
It wouldn't give him the super strength of say, Sephiroth, but it would do.
With the failure of the first strike, the Warrior of Light had resigned himself to what would be a battle of attrition. The odds were in his favor, but it would likely get uglier before it was done. Calling on his magic, he had to get unorthodox about his methods, and so the earth swallowed him as he dove inside. A direct clash was futile, and even trying to simply dodge or move out of the way was too risky. Not even the incorporeality of Loom would grant him immunity from a blow from Zantetsuken. No, there was only one thing that he knew of that could stop Zantetsuken. He forced himself below, and pushed another spell away from him. Of course, the purpose of that was distraction. Seeing the rising mound trailing away from Barnabas, he had hoped that'd be enough to draw his eye.
Meanwhile he moved towards Barnabas, as silently as he could, at least until he was close to under him. He held his breath. Not that he could really breathe down here. He honestly had only a few moments. But then he moved up, and in one swift motion, he raised up out of the earth. He reached for Barnabas's ankle, his hand glowing. He only needed a light brush, nothing more, and then he would have what he needed to hopefully bring this to a swift end, and Odin's influence with it. The last thing this world needed was that Elder Primal running amok. Unfortunately, that light brush came with the feeling of a static shock combined with having ice water dumped on you. Meaning there was no way that Barnabas wouldn't notice the brush, assuming he didn't catch it t first anyway.
[attr=class,bulk] The warrior remained silent, which was only strange given how he’d started the conversation. Either he’d been playing at being a fool or a change had come over him. He hardly seemed to react with any surprise to what was happening between them anymore, focused as he was on the battle. Barnabas was old enough to know that something like that came from experience, but it was odd to see it in someone as young as the blond man. Then again, he knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving.
Whatever Barnabas had expected the man to do next, it had nothing to do with the earth suddenly opening and swallowing him whole. The king let out a delighted laugh, keeping an eye on the ground around his own feet as he turned in a wide circle. “You have the power of multiple elements? This world certainly is full of surprises.” His opponent likely wouldn’t hear him with a pound of earth between them, but it was more for his own benefit than anything else. It was difficult to get Barnabas to start talking, but once his interest was piqued then it was even harder to get him to stop. Clive could certainly have attested to that during their last few battles.
A trail of earth spread its way outward from the point where the man had vanished into the ground. Almost lazily, Barnabas raised a hand and shot a volley of small dark magic attacks into the ground there, as if testing how deep the man had gone. Chunks of earth sprayed outward, littering the air, but he made no sign of emerging. As if on instinct, the dominant looked down at his feet again just as static electricity made his hair stand on end. A hand had emerged from the earth and was grasping for his ankle. His first thought was that the man was trying to pull him into the earth with him, but as Barnabas shot another small dark magic volley at the offending hand, it managed to brush against his boot. The king was suddenly struck by the feeling that he had been caught in one of Shiva’s spells, and he couldn’t suppress a shiver as he leapt backwards to try to avoid whatever the man had in mind.
This method of fighting certainly wasn’t anything that he’d seen before, but Barnabas couldn’t say that he didn’t like the challenge.
