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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Post by Cloud Strife on Mar 18, 2020 12:51:01 GMT -6
A rare swell of pride rose up in his chest from forgotten depths. Cloud flashed a cool, deliberately restrained smirk. After everything he'd been through in the fight against Sephiroth, every trial he overcame, the validation of his ability -- even from a stranger -- still meant something to him. A reminder that it didn't matter that he never made SOLDIER. Bone-tired and hungry, worn out from who knew how many days on the road, he still cut a house in half without breaking a sweat.
He hardly had time to lower his hand after returning the sword to his back before he heard frantic breathing and hurried footsteps bearing down on the pair of them. Like a reflex he reached back and his fingers tightened around the handle of the Fusion Sword and his stance shifted just so as he faced the unknown running towards them. He was like a coiled snake, his posture a warning. But he didn't strike.
Instead, his Mako-blue eyes sized up the man. The rumpled labcoat, and the stack of papers, and the skin of a man who only knew the sun by second-hand account. Good to know mad scientists never changed no matter where you were. The line of tension running through Cloud's body eased, but only just. The scientist's story made his eyes narrow in a look of age beyond his years. At twenty-one, Cloud felt too old for this shit.
"You're kidding me..." he muttered, half to himself but loud enough that the others could hear.
What kind of idiot thinks AI combat houses are a good idea?
When the scientist conveniently remembered that there were more of those homicidal domiciles running around, Cloud followed his would-be comrade's line of sight to the lumbering mechanical beasts sprinting for the next checkpoint, all squealing metal joints and deep, thumping footsteps. He grit his teeth.
Just leave. This isn't your problem. This guy looks like he can handle it himself.
....
The truth was it wasn't his problem. This wasn't his city and these weren't his people. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to resume the hunt for his friends. Nothing mattered more than finding them. But if he learned anything about himself in the fight for the Planet, it was that he wasn't that guy. He couldn't turn his back.
I'm here now, so this is my problem.
Once more he drew the Fusion Sword from his back and swung the massive blade out in front of him. He shot a look at his temporary ally and nodded towards the moving houses.
"You take the one on the left, I'll take the one on the right."
He took one hand off the grip of the sword, clenched it into a fist. The Time materia slotted in his Mystile glowed, and a brief blue aura of Haste enveloped him. The smell of ozone hung in his nose for a second. Then, both hands on the sword again, he shot forward like a rocket and left a blue streak and a trail of dust behind him.
Post by Cloud Strife on Mar 15, 2020 19:08:12 GMT -6
He didn't quite realize just how tired he'd grown of the sound of his own voice until there was somebody else around to listen to. Even in silence, questions and second-guessing rattled around inside his skull like an incessant self-deprecating white noise. He couldn't tune it out when all he had was the sound of his boots on the earth, the rustle and clatter of the swords on his back.
Cloud stood with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching the newcomer feel out the space of the hut, the staccato tapping of the cane adding a new line of percussion over the background crackle of the fire. His Mako-blue eyes gave the man's clothing and gear a once-over. Road-worn, with a pack of what Cloud guessed were supplies. Imagine that. A traveler who knew what he was doing.
This wasn't the first time Cloud ventured forth into the great unknown with nothing more than a sword on his back and the notion to keep putting one foot in front of the other. One of these days he'd learn to stop tempting fate, but until then he traveled on a mostly empty stomach, an occasional handful of questionable foraged berries, and any river or stream that looked fast-moving enough to drink from.
His gut made a noise that could've passed for a lone Nibel wolf lurking in the dark. He didn't remember the last time he ate. He'd been trying not to think about it.
The newcomer seemed satisfied with his surroundings and moved on to introductions. Ignis Scientia. The name meant nothing to Cloud in that moment; he couldn't tie it to any region that he knew of. Which made sense. He had to stop grasping for familiarity in a land that was in every way foreign.
Cloud reached out and shook Ignis' offered hand, a firm handshake, the leather of his glove creaking with the grip.
"Cloud Strife," he said, and after letting go he reached for another broken board and set it on the fire.
Cloud lacked for just about anything except shelter and warmth then, but the thing that chafed the most was the absence of knowledge. Hunger and thirst meant nothing if he could just get his bearings in the world. If he could get a lead on where his friends might be (because they were here, somewhere, and there was no use thinking otherwise). This Ignis guy, Cloud thought, looked like he should know something.
"You been on the road very long, Ignis?" he asked casually.
Post by Cloud Strife on Mar 9, 2020 22:27:23 GMT -6
A solitary vagabond stood in the slowly failing light. There was something unexpectedly refined about the way the man spoke. Cloud didn't recognize the accent, but that was no surprise. It's not like he knew what anyone in this place was supposed to sound like. He guessed, given the way the man carried himself, how his sightline was just off target, that the cane meant the same thing here as it did back home.
Cloud tried to imagine his trek under a veil of permanent darkness. The ghost of a frown crossed his face.
"Don't worry," Cloud said. He waved off the man's concerns, a reflex of a wasted gesture. "I'm too tired to be lookin' for trouble."
The fire popped, a burst of embers rising up through the smoke. The flames licked at a bent nail embedded in one of the burning planks and something in the fire gave off a faint high whine. Glancing back over his shoulder, Cloud considered the stranger's request even though he already knew the answer. The ruined hut was more than large enough to shelter two. Maybe with somebody to talk to, Cloud wouldn't be stuck thinking so much.
Or maybe this would go sideways and turn into the kind of trouble Cloud wasn't looking for. Still wouldn't be stuck thinking so much. What did he have to lose?
"C'mon in and take a seat, then," Cloud said finally, looking back at the man and stepping aside to clear the way into the hut. "There's plenty of... floor."
The hut held in the heat beyond what its appearance would suggest. It wouldn't afford Cloud a comfortable night's rest, but he hadn't been sleeping much anyway, and he'd certainly slept rougher than this. Maybe he'd be able to doze for an hour once he was sure this stranger wasn't going to try and slit his throat. An hour, and then his nerves would wake him, or something else would.
Post by Cloud Strife on Mar 6, 2020 22:34:34 GMT -6
He forgot to count the sunrises.
One day he emerged from the wilderness onto a road. He couldn't see civilization in either direction so he picked one and walked. Other travelers passed him by. They didn't make eye contact. Later on a vehicle dusted him in a layer of fine grit and the person in the passenger's seat glared at him suspiciously before trundling off over the horizon. Cloud paused for a moment of self reflection. Maybe the stress of the situation pulled his expression into a resting scowl, or maybe something about his clothes ran contrary to the local sensibilities, or--
Maybe it's all the swords.
All the swords, six parts to a whole, dangling in a harness on his back. Sunlight glinting off bright steel, flashing like an array of signal mirrors as they swayed with the movement of his walk. Six reasons to avoid the stranger on the road in the dusty fatigues, dirt smeared on pale skin beneath a pair of bright blue eyes.
When the noise of the vehicle's engine faded into the distance all that remained was the whisper of a light breeze and the distant call of a bird he didn't recognize. The road stretched on before him, out to infinity.
He tried to remember what they all talked about on the trek to Junon. If he thought hard enough he could hear laughter he knew he'd never hear again.
-----
How many had that been?
Shit. Forgot to count them again.
When he came upon the place the sun was only just beginning to ease toward the horizon. A ramshackle hut off the road, the path and the clearing around it overgrown with scrubgrass and weeds. It had a foundation of stone blocks and a wooden frame and sunbleached planks warped by time and weather. The front of the building was half caved in, the door laying in the overgrown scrub and the wall planks twisted and splintered, dangling from rusty nails. It reminded him of an old waystation in the foothills of the Nibel range just outside the village. If there was a story behind it his mother never told him. As a kid he used to imagine tall tales of an outlaw's last stand.
No last stands here. Cloud dragged his feet all the way to the door, exhaustion turning his bones to lead. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so hungry, something gnawing at the inside of his stomach. He scanned the hut in a vain hope, but the interior was empty except for broken planks, dirt, weeds, some tattered burlap sacks. Whatever. It would break the wind and offer a roof over his head, and for now, that was enough.
Cloud set his swords in the corner and cleared the floor of broken wood. He picked up the old door and leaned it against the outside of the hut; later, if he had to, he'd break it down for firewood. He snapped a few stray planks off the sunken front wall and built a teepee of wood in front of an open space where the smoke could escape. He held his hand over the peak of the woodpile and the materia in his Mystile glowed green and the fire crackled to life, bathing the ruined hut in a warm glow.
He sat back and watched the flames dance. His mind wandered in the solitude of it all and he couldn't rein it in. He thought of Tifa and the ache in his chest became unbearable.
I'll find her. I'll find everybody. They'll all be fine.
But what if they aren't?
Shut up.
The glow of the fire began to dim. How long had he been sitting there? Cloud stood up to put more wood on the fire, and as the embers spiraled up into the sky he swore he heard the crunch of footsteps on loose gravel and he wasn't just making it up out of desperation for another human presence. He stuck his head out of the gap in the wall, squinting against the glare of a setting sun.
Post by Cloud Strife on Mar 1, 2020 20:45:29 GMT -6
Instinctively, Cloud swung the flat of the assembled fusion sword in front of him like a shield; at near a foot wide and more than five feet long, it might as well be. Sunk into a low, stable stance, he braced himself for the impact of the blast. In those tense milliseconds he thought he heard the high crackle of energy as it powered up, but the attack never came. Instead, the sudden thunderclap of a gunshot roared past Cloud's ears and he looked past his sword to see the mechanical creature jerk violently backwards in a spray of shards and shrapnel.
Something small in the back of his mind lit up. Vincent? But the thought disappeared as quickly as it came. He lowered the blade back into a fighting stance as the blur of an attacker warped past his peripheral vision, appeared in full bringing the fight to the hostile house.
The man he saw earlier.
Cloud tightened his grip on the sword, launched forward, and entered the close-range melee. The other man held the machine's focus, hacking it up efficiently enough that Cloud thought he didn't really need the assist. Sparks crackled and sprayed from the house's severed arm joint like the bloody stump of an amputee. Gobs of oil and hydraulic fluid spattered in wild patterns on the ground. With an open shot at its back, Cloud swung the fusion sword in a violent downward strike, splitting open the metal plating with a high metallic screech. The house jerked violently. Cloud followed with an upward strike along the same axis, the momentum carrying him into a corkscrewing vertical jump.
High in the air, time slowed to a slideshow. He became acutely aware of the smell of grease and metal and burning plastic or rubber. The cool air on his skin. The weight of the blade in his hands. The calm, steady beating of his heart and the breath moving in and out of his lungs.
Then, with his sword raised high over his head, Cloud came down on that machine with the force of a meteor. A streak of silver in a halo of blue energy. The blade cleaved the house in two and the impact of his landing made the earth around him rumble. The two halves of the house hissed steam and fluid, glowed orange at the site of the split, and fell sideways to the ground.
Quiet descended over the scene. The pieces of the machine smoked but lay still.
Cloud spun his sword with a flourish in one hand, almost reflexively, then slipped it into the sheath on his back. He looked from the mechanical corpse to the other man who'd been fighting the thing and nodded to him. The gesture covered the time it took for him to think of something to say.
"Nice shooting," he said, wishing he'd thought of something better.
Post by Cloud Strife on Feb 28, 2020 22:37:17 GMT -6
At some point in his waking in this world Cloud knocked over the pyramid of his hierarchy of needs. Food, rest, shelter, and safety skittered off in every direction like shattered glass on tile and the only piece he had left in his hands was social. Like a mantra it ran on a loop in his head: I need to find them. It drowned out the drone of the city, the rumble in his stomach, the dull ache of exhaustion. And the other voice in Cloud's head, one of more practical concerns, persistently reminded him that he needed to eat and he needed a place to sleep and that he probably needed money, first, for both of those things, and that he didn't know that any of the people he so desperately sought would be in this city anyway.
Hell, he didn't know that any of them were in this world. He only knew that he couldn't entertain the possibility that they weren't.
Inside Sonora's walls skyscrapers loomed over the world below and Cloud couldn't shake the feeling of being looked down on by giants, steel and glass bulk pressing in on him with every step he took. In the shadows of the streets neon signs burned bright, buzzed one-note songs. He followed the flow of foot traffic with his head on a swivel and his eyes scanning for city guards, ducking into side-streets and back-alleys when he thought they might see him. He wasn't worried about the physical threat, but the authorities wouldn't help, and Cloud didn't need a new headache.
Everything about this place had the feeling of a distorted reflection. The guards weren't Shinra but they might as well have been off-brand. Sonora wasn't Midgar but it could have been its sister. Cloud couldn't get comfortable with any of it, with this half-understanding of a place he'd never been to before, but his instincts drove him as naturally as they would have in Midgar. Where do you go when you want to disappear? Where do you go when you want information? Where the authorities aren't. In the opposite direction of wealth, of comfort. Into the shadows.
When you went to Midgar...
What about it?
After Nibelheim, five years later, when you went to Midgar, what were you doing there?
Cloud frowned. He rounded a corner, exiting a trash-strewn alley into a trash-strewn street. Orange glow through a barred window, menacing in the low city murk. The buildings here shed their orderly facades and looked like pieces of a dozen different puzzles fitted together with glue and prayers. A failing pipe hissed steam. Smell of old piss, wet cardboard, unfiltered cigarettes and sour, rotting trash. The universal slum odor triggered sense-memory. His mind's eye conjured Sector Seven.
I thought I was going to be a mercenary.
You were. Barret paid you.
What does that have to do with anything?
You're going to need money here. You have a set of skills.
Past a huckster selling stolen watches. A barker trying to drive foot traffic into a questionable gentleman's club. Cloud felt eyes on him, on the six swords dangling from his back and the roadworn SOLDIER uniform, and though the city guards were a non-presence here the feeling of impending trouble, like static in the air, permeated the street. He kept walking with no destination, following an intuition he couldn't trust. A woman he didn't recognize came walking in the opposite direction and nothing about her caught his eye except a vibrant, fresh-cut flower in her hands. Like a bright light in the darkness, grown under a rare shaft of sun in a half-crumbled slum church... His eyes fixated on it. He turned his head to follow the sight as she walked past but kept moving until he walked into the solid mass of a human being.
Hand on his chest, shoving him backwards.
Cloud kept his footing and fixed his eyes on the picture of a slum tough and his buddies, tattoos and bad teeth, all grinning with the excuse for a fight. He saw brass knuckles, a bat, a pistol. He didn't worry about himself. The street was tight, pedestrians everywhere. Some stopped to watch. Others had seen this show too many times before.
"Sorry. Hey, I'm not looking for trouble," Cloud said evenly. His hands hung loose at his sides. Six sword grips within reach.
"Yeah, well, we are."
"That's a bad idea. How about we go our separate ways instead?"
"How about go to hell."
Cloud thought he'd been through the equivalent already, but saying as much wouldn't help the situation. The lead tough patted his brass knuckles, and the moment his body twitched in anticipation of moving was the moment Cloud reacted. Before the tough even realized what was happening he was tripping, his haymaker swinging wide, falling past Cloud and into a gaggle of gawking pedestrians.
"I said I'm not looking for trouble," Cloud repeated with an edge of frustration, but by the looks of Brass Knuckles' buddies, they still were and Cloud could still go to hell.
----- @kain uhhh this got real long and rambly, still getting the hang of the setting and character so lemme know if you need anything tweaked!
Post by Cloud Strife on Feb 23, 2020 23:03:30 GMT -6
The chill in the air didn't bother him. Cloud Stife was a Nibelheim boy. In the dead of winter the village was gripped by the kind of cold that seeped into the marrow of your bones. Anything less than that was t-shirt weather.
He should have been counting his days on the road but he hadn't, and so he hadn't any idea of how far he'd come. In the solitude his mind wandered. He thought about the relation between distance and time, how the latter became the measure of the former. Miles didn't matter much when you replaced chocobos with trucks and trucks with ships and ships with planes. The trip from Midgar to Nibelheim was so many hours by air, and to the Northern Crater was so many more. Distance became time. And now he, with no measure of either in this world he didn't know, felt like he existed outside of both. A point in space devoid of tethers to the rest of existence.
His tethers had to be somewhere here. A rusting metal road sign told him the city of Sonora was five kilometers away. He'd enter the city, and somehow he'd find them all. Tifa, and Barret, and Nanaki, and Cid, and all the others. And maybe Tifa would smile at him and Barret would admonish his #@$%&*! spikey ass for waltzing in late and they'd continue on like nothing ever happened, because it didn't matter that they were in a different world as long as they were all together.
A vehicle drove past him, coughing exhaust. The gravel of the shoulder crunched under his boots. Visions of the collapsing crater flashed in his mind and for a moment he screwed his eyes shut tight like that would be enough to block them out. No, everyone was here, somewhere. They were alive. Had to be. He had to hope, because if he didn't have hope all that remained was despair.
Cloud went down that road already. He didn't much care to walk it again.
----
Time and distance passed. The sun began its slow descent and he watched the city rise up before him in the waning golden light. The miasma of industry grew stronger, but there was something strangely comforting about it. A dark haze looming. It reminded him of Midgar. For good and for ill, at least it was familiar.
A sign warned him of an upcoming checkpoint. He suddenly felt a heightened awareness of the sword on his back and the materia at his disposal. After he woke up he took inventory of what he had on him -- a waterlogged PHS, useless. His sword, his armour, a few pieces of materia (missing, he noted, Odin and the Knights of the Round). He didn't imagine any of this would be a comfort to the guards he was bound to meet. Cities didn't set up checkpoints because they were welcoming to armed strangers.
After everything, you're worried about some city guards?
...I'm not making trouble before I even know why I'm here. Or why you're back.
Who else are you gonna talk to?
The checkpoint stood a hundred-odd meters away, and Cloud ignored the lingering doubt in his head while mako-blue eyes assessed the city guards. The uniforms and weapons definitely weren't Shinra. Posture read aware but not anxious. Another man approached the checkpoint ahead of him, and so Cloud slowed his pace to watch the interaction. That was, until the squeal of metallic joints and the clamor of heavy moving metal caught Cloud's attention.
That can't be a Hell House.
He could have been back in Sector Five, on the way to Wall Market with...
One of the city guards shouted, and without thinking Cloud grabbed the sword from his back and dashed on an intercepting path, a streak of steel and blond hair. He swung six feet of metal like a baseball bat, felt the edge drive through the steel plating of the robot-house's exterior. All this in half a second, maybe less. Cloud wasn't sure. Time and distance.
He halted, a contrail of dirt drifting gently to the ground behind him. The house rolled end over end ahead of him and came to rest on its side, hissing steam like an angry metal snake. A chunk of it lay twisted and mangled in the space between it and where Cloud stood, but it wasn't done.
The house planted one of its arms on the ground and with a piston-like motion shoved itself back upright. It faced Cloud. A red light began to glow.
