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.
Torensten, the adventurer’s paradise. Setro’s journey thus far from the valley was one of the usual ordeals you’d expect — slaying beasts and availing all strokes of travellers. With a mite compensation of gil and food, the warrior was also given information about the city and its proclivities for the likes of him. It made him wonder about his comrades. Despite the whispers of trepidation, he remained steadfast. The Warriors of Light are no mere band of combatants, after all. Adversity was their speciality. Mayhaps he so brazenly assumes that should the others awake in this world beyond theirs, they would inevitably make their way to this city. To that end, Setro decided that Torensten was his next destination.
It was strange… he took in the surrounding structures and venues in Torensten as the denizens would respond in kind, yet the marvel only dawned upon Setro once he gazed aloft the city square; an abundance of airships, towering edifices and a comradery that is appealing to those who invite such warmth. Admittedly, the warrior of light was hit with a pang of melancholy, for this city was reminiscent of Cornelia. But the bittersweet reminiscing was unwittingly cut short by an old, weathered voice.
“You’re one of them Outlanders, aren’t you?” Cerulean pools trace towards the voice whereupon an old man stood. Black hair with a myriad grey streaks and draped in a commoner’s raiment, Setro would nod in acknowledgement and answer with, “Yes, sir. What gave it away?”
“What gave it away?” The old man echoed, “The armour, obviously!” “Is it not a standard look?” Asked Setro. “Obviously, but I’ve seen plenty of knights wear their steel, always moving with some sorta sluggishness, even for the big fellas. But you? Can’t say I ever seen anyone strut about looking like they’re used to the weight.”
Use to the weight — the words left Setro musing over the implications. Was it the hardships that have steeled his composure? Or perhaps his adamantine resolve to endure whatever hardships come his way? In truth, it was an amalgamation of many things that refined who he is now. It was a brief train of thought but Setro would inevitably release a small chuckle and add, “Perhaps I never realised that it became an after-thought. Against the adversities my friends and I had faced, my armour’s heft was merely just an idle worry.”
And so, for the next while, this old man would humour the warrior, and Setro in turn would indulge the old man’s curiosity.
Post by Laurelin Hawthorne on Jul 4, 2024 20:43:51 GMT -6
“Distracted, are we?” The bookkeeper's voice cut through her thoughts as sunlight through mist.
Laurelin startled, hand dropping from her face, gaze falling on the older man. The smile on his lips matched the twinkle in his eyes. While he’d never admit it outloud, he obviously found catching her off guard entertaining. A feat near impossible to do. “Ah,” she replied. “I suppose I am.”
As of late, she spent her time nestled between the tomes, revisiting a sore topic. If she were to be a hero once more she would need healing. From the scrolls she dug up from the labyrinth depths of the sunken Metaia Shrine,* there seemed to be a Tree of Life, furthered backed by her reading done in this shop. Curiosity wormed its way in, gnawing and feasting away until it had brought her to her current dilemma.
She would need to prepwork. Supplies for replenishment and restoration needed to be gathered all while procuring the swiftest route from a (hopefully) reliable guide. Yet her body still protested from its most recent endeavor, a deep ache that brought no ease to the elf. How had she pushed herself only to be cowed after one adventure? Had she really let herself fall so far?
There was always that Dragonblade, she mused. Save for one did not stop by and ask for dragon rides. Even so, the thought of a swift, easy flight and shorter walking distance took the sting from her weary legs. It pained to think this time around she could not vault from Vordun with ease befitting her race.
A thin finger tapping against the table drew Laurelin’s attention once more to the bookkeeper. A gentle smile graced his face again. “Maybe,” he began, “a walk is in order?”
No doubt he wished to lock up in order to browse the local flower shop himself (given the fact he was sweet on the elderly florist who ran it, a likely presumption). She dipped her head to hide her knowing smile, swallowing back her previously depressing thoughts. “Sage advice.” With a flick of her wrist the medicinal book closed with a faint thump and returned to its rightful place upon the shelf.
Slipping from the bookshop with one last wave to the elder, Laurelin found herself in a back alley of Torensten. Rolling her shoulders, she winced at the popping sound of her left followed by a tingling sensation. That was certainly new.
Favoring her left, Laurelin scanned her surroundings. With ease she let the pace of the crowd, ever flowing like a river, lead her until the road yawned into the town square. From there she began her first task: wares comparison. Vendors of all shapes and sizes flocked to town to set up shops in the many buildings, albeit she had heard rumors Provo outmatched Torensten regarding merchants. One day she vowed to see that with her own eyes.
Like a moth she fluttered to each shop window, peering through the glass, gathering her own intel. Perhaps a larger satchel was required, should she brave the woodlands. Her current hardly fit the scrolls and trinkets that had caught her eye at the Shrine. What if this spring was nothing more than a farce and the only cure was in a remedy? Would she not need certain herbs?
Rounding a corner, Laurelin froze as if dropped into a frigid pond. There, amongst the crowd, conversing with an older man, stood a knight. Heart rabbit-quick, she forced herself to breathe, to get ahold of herself. He remained solid. Real. So unlike her other memories when they surfaced, only to dash her hopes in a blink of an eye.
“I searched for so long,” she whispered. She drifted closer and each step her Crystal felt lighter (surely a trick of the mind). “I thought you were all dead.”
Laurelin flinched at her own confession. So much for her tact.
* Referencing a thread in the works that hasn't happened been posted yet (but opener has been started).
Whilst the elder began a harmless meandering in their years of observations, they failed to notice the warrior’s attention wavered, or rather, something warranted it be so. Cerulean pools sharpen with focus and caution as if his instincts were urging him to take note that someone close by was keenly interested in his presence here. But who? Beyond those he’s interacted with thus far, he’s yet to provoke anyone. Logic soon took precedence, however, urging Setro to search his feelings rather than relying solely on instinct. What he felt was an old but familiar sensation, the kind that’s born from the bonds of comradery.
‘Could it be…?’
As that thought trickled its way into his heart, a softness had glazed over his eyes as they widened with curiosity, of want even. Of all the warrior’s of light, Setro was perhaps the most forthright, never deterring from the path and always facing it head-on— a trait that was shared in and out of battle. Rather than ascribing to mere speculation, tufts of platinum hair brush over his shoulder as Setro turned his head to what he believed to be the general area whereupon that sensation dwelled.
In that infinitesimal flicker from one moment to the next, time seemingly stood still, bereft of the inevitable march if not for but a brief moment. When their eyes locked, he knew with absolute certainty. This was no conjuration of the mind, nor some meek parlour trick. “Laurelin…” Her name fell from a mouth held agape, a faint whisper that only he was supposedly privy to. Setro knew something was amiss, for the near palid demeanour appeared as if she had seen a ghost. Perhaps she too thought she wouldn’t see her comrades again, but no, he believes it to be something else. Was it possible she arrived at Zephon long before he did? Given the nature of their method to stop Chaos, it would be unwise to dismiss the possibility, but even so…
“Laure-what now?” Evidently, the warrior’s mumble hadn’t gone unnoticed, nor did his lack of focus on the topic at hand once the elder finally paid notice. He too looked at the source of Setro’s distraction, gazing upon the elf that gazed back at them. “You know her or something?”
“She is my comrade and friend.” No sooner when that reply was uttered did the warrior turn his body towards the aforementioned individual, followed with a swift addition of, “Please excuse me.” From there, he broke into a hastened yet steady gait towards Laurelin, parsing through the citizens and closing that torturous proximity until finally standing before her.
The myriad of thoughts and questions they undoubtedly harboured were surely immense. The soldier in him wanted to know if she had ascertained the whereabouts of their friends, or if they were fortunate enough to arrive here like they had. But right now? It wasn’t the time nor the place.
“Laurelin,” he paused, that cool demeanour loosened to what appeared to be relief as a small yet softened smile pierced the otherwise stoic countenance when he said, “— I’m glad you’re alright.”
