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.
The journey south transitioned from towering edifices held aloft in the valley, to dense fogs and mired surfaces that surrounded the muddied marshlands. Yet such endeavours never made the likes of Setro waver. Funny enough, the warrior mused to himself with a faint chuckle. He hearkens back to his world and albeit the bittersweet pang of being away from it, the ordeals weren’t so utterly different. The more things change, the more they stay the same — or so the saying goes. Perhaps that’s why he remains stalwart, Setro was quick to adapt, after all. The only thing he laments is having to carry the heft of his armour through the swamps yonder.
He’ll manage, he always does.
Of course, there were those who would call this place home, those that persist beyond the pain of death. The few he encountered were slain with naught much effort, however with the latest batch slain, Setro adjusts the grip of his sword and quietly talks to himself. “These undead— while their strength has long since left them, they would become problematic should a great number assail me. I best keep my wits about me.” Before anything else could follow, pools of cerulean veer to the sight of a light breaking through the thick fog and encroaching thicket of trees yonder him. The silence that followed didn’t appear to forebode any ill tidings, yet he wouldn’t leave it idle. Perhaps it was another transient soul much like he was.
With little to convince him otherwise, Setro sets forth into the forest, cutting through whatever low hanging vines or eerily draped branches hinder his path. Recounting his emergence, the warrior was in a comatose state before he came to; at least his surroundings weren’t so grim. With each carefully placed step, he veered closer to the suspected vicinity from whence that light came… and when Setro could confirm his suspicions, he did so with a heavy conscience, for lying atop the moist and spongy earth was a young man— no, perhaps a mite younger than that. The warrior of light was quick to sheathe his weapon and hastily walk over to them before sinking a knee into the ground. From there, he’d tilt to and fro as he’d begin inspecting if anything else ailed them.
TYPE-0
17
YEARS
MALE
SINGLE
GAY
4 POSTS
FRAY
so walk on and become the light that guides the way.
Rising from death, the Vermilion Bird keeps the flame in Ace's heart whole and hearty. He had given his all to the people of Orience, so his first thought upon feeling ground beneath him is this -- why have I returned? And, no less, to a place that he scarcely remembers, or perhaps doesn't even recognize at all...
There is dirt under his fingernails. It's an overwhelming, prevailing thought somehow. Miniature pebbles and small flakes of shellac make their home burrowed under the keratinous edge, and as he slowly starts to flex his fingers back to life, bits of debris fall from under the loose white edge of nail. His toes feel cramped in his too-small shoes, his feet having swollen with edema after too much use. He pronates and supinates his feet, feeling the indentation of fluid-filled bubbles just under the surface of the skin against the stitched, hard edges of his dress shoes. And, at last, his head pounds, the rush of too little blood squeaking in his ears, the sound of a circulatory system desperate to begin again after the sludging stop of a fitting end.
Vitals seem to be intact. There's no blood anywhere that's visible on the ground, which is a start. Ace's body hurts all over, to be sure, but not in the way that internal bleeding does, which is a state he's all too familiar with after hundreds of millions of deaths. This feels like the waking up from the slumber of death, alright, which means... he's better, but not altogether there yet. Bleary grey-blue eyes blink open to catch sight of a strange man crouched down next to him.
Ace is quick to get to his feet, leaping up with blindingly acrobatic speed. His hands go to his pack automatically to feel for cards left within, though it may have been quicker to simply try to summon them out of thin air (he must be addled in the head, he must be sick to be prioritizing himself for a moment over the harsh pull of a weapon from where it never was). His eyes stay trained on the stranger with an uncanny, steely gaze, and notably rest on Setro's hands to see what he plans to do next.
The young man’s speed was fleeting but instantaneous, as to be expected with their lithe physique. But the way they moved was rigid and offered the smallest of exaggeration; that was instinct. Setro effortlessly kept focus during the newly drawn proximity, but that infinitesimal moment betwixt had him surmising such… and perhaps even sparing a morsel of pity. What did they have to endure to attain that innate, near subconscious level of reflex? That is, after all, tempered in the flames of conflict. The Warrior would assume when they came to, their mind, body and soul all screamed one thing — protect yourself.
He should be cautious, prepared even… and yet Setro’s sword remained in its sheath.
In the instance that Ace found substantial footing from their leap, the Warrior’s hand remained exposed, ne’er to pull his weapon from its sheath but instead motioning for peace as he said, “Hearken to me— I am not your enemy.” If this young man has dared the fires of battle, then such a statement is easily dismissible, so Setro made no attempt to add sincerity to his tone, lest it stir suspicions further. But it was his eyes. There was nary a hint of deceit behind them. Or, to be more precise, they were incapable of conveying such.
To further that point, the warrior of light stood upright, his shield remaining close whilst the other hand rested over his chest as an exchange took place. “I am Setro, a warrior foreign to these lands. My emergence here wasn’t unlike your own.” He was aware the young man would adhere to a more incredulous viewpoint, but Setro didn’t have much choice other than to rely on a leap of faith that this attempted communication, as it were, would embolden his endeavour.
Soon enough, the older man posed a question, his hand lowering from his chest to offer a small gesture before dropping it completely. “I do not fault your weariness, but know that I am a friend— a transient guest in this world, just like you. In that vain, perhaps you can tell me your name?”
TYPE-0
17
YEARS
MALE
SINGLE
GAY
4 POSTS
FRAY
so walk on and become the light that guides the way.
The other person looks honest, but Ace knows better than to trust anything like that -- he studies Setro with a bold, open look, his eyes boring into the other as if searching for something that he's not sure is there. He runs through the mental checklist of things to be on the lookout for. The other has a weapon, so the chances of him being a civilian are low, not to mention the shield that he has on hand; not only are they not a civilian, but they're no low-ranking soldier, either. Unless, of course, normal soldiers here are outfitted in finery like this. Somehow he doubts that any reliable military would summon a budget massive enough for something like that, so it's better to assume that this man is a special case. Now, to analyze the other's posture as quickly as he can--
Ace is so busy overanalyzing his situation like a good little soldier that he nearly misses the other speaking to him. So... this Setro isn't from here. It doesn't take an expert in Orience's topography to know that there isn't a place like this, at least not within the confines of Rubrum. The thing that Ace finds the most odd is that he seems to be alone, but perhaps that'd just been an accident -- his siblings may well be nearby. He reaches up to his ear automatically to check his COMM.
Which appears to not be present. Damn.
He wants to retort with we're not friends but somehow that doesn't seem like the most helpful of interjections in this scenario. As a gesture of goodwill, though, Ace will offer his name.
"Ace," he responds. "...you seem to know a lot about this place."
“Only a trifle. While you aren’t the first I’ve encountered, I’m afraid I can offer nothing but idle speculation.” Setro’s fortitude, coupled together with his forthright manner, saw him sparing Ace any reasons for suspicion. Subterfuge begets bad blood, after all. He couldn’t imagine doing anything of the sort with his comrades— that much he wanted to convey. All that remained was Ace. Would he temper that paranoia? Or take his chances, albeit their supine state? The warrior of light would lament the latter, ergo his insistence of diplomacy. And he’s bereft of fondness for attacking someone while they’re down, but if forced…
Turning his head, Setro examined the dense thicket beyond them, mired in a foggy miasma as they were. The daylight barely pierces the canopy, and while the overgrown roots leave them shy of encountering the ghouls he’s slain thus far, the woods might very well invite other manner of fiends. “I’m afraid we can’t tarry for much longer. I suggest we try to make it through the marshlands before sundown.”
In that moment, his eyes sharpen with a razor focus and his body, despite the already stalwart posture, had somehow become more imposing as he drew his sword from its sheath. But that paled in comparison to what he did next— Setro turned his back to Ace. Despite the young man’s wariness, was he inviting the chance for ill intent? Or was it some convoluted machination? What Setro said, however, aired any suspicions Ace might’ve had. “I will draw their ire and cut a path out of these marshes.” Though his legs were planted as firmly as the roots themselves, he twisted his upper half to look at the young man.
“And so I ask of you— will you help me with this endeavour?”
