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 Laurelin Hawthorne on Jul 1, 2022 9:07:25 GMT -6
serve the good, be one of the greats, heal the world and change our fate
“Much larger,” she agreed. Cornelia spread across the land, pushing her boundaries year by year, matching the surging population. Gaia, while Laurelin surmised did similar, seemed to have had a slower birth rate and far fewer commuters sought refuge there. Simply put, the need to expand was next to nonexistent. “To think the world is larger yet.”
The waitress returned, balancing two cups on a tray. Much to the elf’s surprise, she had brought a few rolls, slathered in honey, alongside a bowl of soup. The scent of the rolls brought an unwanted stomach gurgle from Laurelin. “Thought so. You might not be human, sugar, but even you have to eat,” the woman said, flashing a coy smile.
I am nearly fourfold your age. I needn’t be reminded of my limitations. Yet Laurelin’s expression belied her thoughts. Her lack of ordering must have given her away. She’d not make that mistake twice. Meanwhile the waitress’s dark eyes had focused on Nick as she placed the soup before him. “Same goes for growing boys.”
Laurelin would give a curt nod of thanks. Once again, when she was out of earshot, did their conversation pick up, this time about her homeland.
Seeming pleased by his comments, Laurelin picked up her tea, and gently blew on it. The steam scattered like mist to the morning sun. “My people are rather secretive.” She took a sip, savoring the sensations blossoming over her tongue. “Rare is it that we travel beyond our borders to Cornelia, rarer yet further out.” Her and her father before her were some of the exceptions, for Silvanus’s training took him to Crescent Lake and the whole world saving required her to travel.
“Nothing wrong with having lived a quiet life. Some would say it is a blessing to remain unperturbed.” Her smile did not reach her eyes. Now he would have to assimilate to a bustling society.
“Now,” she began, hands resting on her lap, loosely cradling her cup, “this comes to the current subject.” She motioned to indicate his robes, red as poppies. “You mentioned training as a mage”—she readied herself for another bout of tears—"how far along are your studies? What spells have you mastered thus far?”
She needed something—anything—to work with. Was he only a red mage temporary, as most magi began out as, before their studies took them to their true calling? Laurelin watched in measured silence. Any masters of red and white she could have recommended did not walk on this soil. Even if they did, she questioned their willingness to accept an apprentice. Furthermore, given what snippets she heard, the nearby city preferred the university method.
“A course of action must be taken.” She leaned back, stretching her long legs. “As you are aware”—now she gestured toward herself—”I am versed in black magic. While I have read about white magic, as my kindred favors it, I’m afraid I cannot lend aid if you’re more inclined to it.”
She had chosen the less followed path of her kindred, who had an affinity for both mystic branches. It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, given her father followed the red robes; whereas her mother, while not as versed, favored black magic, in case a threat would befall the prince. Laurelin’s fingers twisted tightly together in repressed lividity. Her mother still bore thin scars given to her by that dark elf. Yet her voice remained calm when she mused aloud, “Mayhaps Torensten is the place you’re destined to be.”
Post by Laurelin Hawthorne on Jun 6, 2022 11:01:31 GMT -6
serve the good, be one of the greats, heal the world and change our fate
She accepted her handkerchief back, pocketed it. “I surmise you’re right,” she said, voice soft. While she hadn’t known the lad’s mother, it felt only appropriate to believe she’d want nothing but the best for him. At the aforementioned staff, Laurelin smiled. “Treasure it always. It will lend you strength in times of need.”
And strength he would need in this world.
Their trekking resumed and the endless, white sand horizon broke to reveal a massive building. Not one to pause, Laurelin led them both through the front door. What lay beyond was a massive common room. High vaulted ceilings yawned above them, and, when there weren’t storms, sunlight glistened through skylight windows, spraying rainbows below through stained glass. Tapestries of victorious warriors covered parts of the walls alongside trinkets from successful hunts. It clashed with the modern bar and sleek tables, but Laurelin wouldn’t complain. Zephon’s history mixing with the current otherworlders’ influences were present everywhere, should one look hard enough.
Settling in a large, plush chair nearby the center hearth, she released an audible sigh. The fire warmed her, softening her features, and she relished in its gentle touch. Here, within the comforting walls and familiar scents of spices and the clamor of forged alliances, the Kraken’s screams couldn’t reach her. For a moment, she could relax and be swept up in memories of a grand adventure. Shoulders drooping like a willow, Laurelin embraced that sensation.
Until the creaking of wood caught her attention. Eyes opening, she hummed, having taken notice of a woman who had approached her table, menus in hand. “I would like tea, please.” Her eyes turned towards Nick. “Order whatever strikes your fancy.”
Once their order was placed and the woman out of earshot, Laurelin finally addressed Nick. “We have much to discuss.” She smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “While not certain, I’m likened to surmise we hail from a similar world. If not the same one.” It was a bold statement, to say the least, but Laurelin was known for her forwardness. She needed answers and answers she'd get. “You mentioned you’re from Gaia. A quaint town, with fairies abundant, nestled in a valley.” The mountains were beautiful; the grass was springy beneath her boots (—and how she longed to run barefoot!). The fae’s magic ran so rich Laurelin had felt it in the pollen that covered her. Remembering brought gooseflesh to her skin. She could have remained there in that valley, embraced by the lush land, had the forests of Elfheim not claimed her heart.
“Are you aware of any other locations in your world? Cornelia? Elfheim?”
Post by Laurelin Hawthorne on May 16, 2022 19:42:46 GMT -6
serve the good, be one of the greats, heal the world and change our fate
“I had figured as such,” Laurelin replied, a warm smile gracing her features. “Mothers tend to instill important lessons.” Her own had stressed the importance of political negotiation, leaving her tea to unattended for too long, as she schooled her children about proper conduct. Oft or not, Silas and Laurelin would find their father slipping into the room when the shadows grew deep, coaxing her to retire for the night. Their children needed rest as well, he would say, his smile as gentle as his words. Reluctant, she’d obliged, as he was ever the sage between the two.
Heart lurching at the unbidden memories, Laurelin slowed her previously hasty pace, before coming to a sudden halt. Gaia. Fairies. Impossible.
Seraphine’s words crept like a serpent from the murky depths, coiling about her throat. Something haunts your steps. Was this boy the something? Impossible.
And yet across their travels, they thwarted ill-prepared pinchers’ attempts to smuggle fairies to the caravan. They had freed another fae from captivity. In their haste to lay waste to the Kraken, they had arrived in a town aptly named Gaia. Was he from the same location?
Impossible?
The Judgment Staff felt heavier than usual, digging between her shoulders, threatening to bury her beneath the sands. Had their rash actions left a town open for attack? Had they unwittingly goaded consequence? How many orphans were made as the result of unseen enemies tailing their every move? Was it even possible?
Of course it was.
A subtle hiccup shattered her thoughts. The waves crashed, swirling with an upcoming storm, and Laurelin turned to meet it. He reminded her of Linhart and Eriol when they were upset, with tears gathering on lashes and the quaking of limbs. Putting on a brave face, trying to be strong. Her heart ached. She had failed, hadn’t she?
“My condolences.” Her hand shook as she fished out a handkerchief from a hidden pocket. The material was silken, dyed Elfheim-green, with a golden embossed wreath of laurel. One of the few treasures from her homeland, and she was offering to a stranger. “You are much too young to have suffer such loss. I am sorry.”
Post by Laurelin Hawthorne on May 4, 2022 15:13:49 GMT -6
serve the good, be one of the greats, heal the world and change our fate
She was light as a feather, the elf noted, while gently tugging the woman back to her feet. Satisfied she was stable, Laurelin released the other’s wrist and straightened. “You needn’t apologize. I should have been vigilant”—a smooth smile lit her features, matching the mirth in her eyes— “as I am well equipped for the lofty task.”
The Fiends only knew how awkward she had been when she had sprouted like a bamboo shoot. All knobby kneed, willow limbs that lacked the grace befitting her race, often resulting in her tripping over her skirts. One memory struck out to her, the time she had stumbled, clashed into her mother, dropping both like flies. It is natural, her father had remarked around a grin, offering his hand to both wife and daughter. Her mother playfully huffed from her position beneath tangled limbs, commenting about their children resembling him, and Laurelin did not miss the way her father flushed. And much like me, they’ll grow accustomed to being one with the sequoias.
He had not been wrong. Though today might have proved him elsewise. “Laurelin,” she answered, and offered her right hand. “It is a pleasure, Terra.”
She gave Terra a cursory overlook. Clothing and hair stylings did not come cheap and, if her judgment was credible, this garment was new as well as the haircut. Potentially costly. As were many things when one dolled themselves up to make an impression. She had done it herself some odd years back, when she had fancied a certain dwarven lady. Absentmindedly, Laurelin brushed her fingers against the broach resting above her heart and smiled fondly.
“Nonetheless, I’m glad you’re unharmed,” she said, giving one last sweep, confirming the hair still neat and the outfit unsoiled. “I hope I haven’t delayed you either. I rather not be the reason a lady is late for a date.”
Post by Laurelin Hawthorne on Mar 8, 2022 20:46:40 GMT -6
serve the good, be one of the greats, heal the world and change our fate
“I cannot say,” she began, kneeling nearby, fingers plucking at the scattered items, “how long you have been out. I was merely passing by.” Laurelin offered the potion bottles to the mage, where he tucked them in his bag for safe keeping. “Though I suppose taking on a nest of Sahagin has become much simpler, with one less running amok.”
As he adjusted his hat, he spoke, and she kept quiet, pensive. The boy was analytical, she’d give him that, able to deduce he was in a new world. That or—ah, there was the question. Naïve and unknowing, but not necessarily a negative connotation. She, after all, was once in his shoes, before her journey left its impact on her body, mind, and soul. There was something endearing about innocence. Primarily when his last word hit the air.
“Madam?” She flashed a playful smile, stifling her laughter. “Are you under the impression every elf you meet is as ancient as the land?” Most often made that mistake, and while it made no difference to her, it was always fun to poke at. Watching the panic rise alongside the bumbling of apologies were equally amusing. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so harsh, given the fact whoever raised him raised him well. With a dismissive wave she added, “Laurelin. Tis a pleasure, Nick.”
As for his question, locals provided her all the answers. The least she could do was pass along her knowledge. “Zephon,” she answered. “More specifically the Pale Coast.”
Rising, she offered her right hand. “It’d be best we get you out of this weather and by a warm fire.” It would also give him a chance to collect himself while filling his stomach, and her to ask about the sheer number of Sahagins that lurked in the area. And something also nagged at her to requestion Seraphine. Something about this encounter felt uncanny. “The Hero’s Haven is nearby. Come along.”
As they walked, she favored her left, treading lightly over the pale sandbanks. “There’s no doubt you’re not from this world,” she said. She needn’t state the obvious, given his initial confusion, but something tickled her curiosity. Once Laurelin’s curiosity spiked, not even Chaos could prevent her from achieving answers. “Still, it begs the question: where do you hail from?”
Post by Laurelin Hawthorne on Jan 20, 2022 19:19:12 GMT -6
serve the good, be one of the greats, heal the world and change our fate
Laurelin rarely shopped at her leisure, having grown accustomed to splitting meager coin between allies with the sole purpose of buying necessities. Now torn from friend and home the elf had an influx of Gil. Wandering between the aisles she patted her satchel with a sly, boastful smile. The famous Dragonblades surely would not miss a mission or two not reaching their ears.
“Fascinating.” Laurelin lifted the object to examine it with keen eyes. Black as a moonless night it was, streaked with silver, with an equally lovely nib. A master craftsman had forged this object, his work as functional as it was eloquent. “Exquisite.”
The shopkeeper’s brows raised from the magazine he had been reading. “You’s never seen a pen before?”
“None like this,” Laurelin replied, eyes taking in the veins of Mythril glinting in the sunspray filtering through the paned window. “I own a fine quill.” Pride swelled in her chest. Pyrolisk feathers were tricky to obtain, trickier yet to carve into a functioning tool, but she had done just that on the road. It was her treasure, one that grounded her, a reminder of days past…
She returned the pen to its padded box, decided to keep her gil for necessities.
With a polite smile Laurelin excused herself, exited the store, and was greeted with the familiar thrumming of magic that gave Torensten its livelihood. Inhaling deeply, Laurelin savored it, sensing each mage that offered their own strength to the crystal catalysts. Moments like this, with her eyes closed and lost to the powers that set her veins aflame, reminded her of home. Of Elfheim with arcana that ran as deep as the forest roots which hugged her borders, ancient as the race which claimed it as theirs. Torensten, while old, held a youthful vigor. Most likely the result of countless spellcasters renewing its supply.
Slipping into the throng, Laurelin considered her next move. While she enjoyed Torensten’s libraries and shops alike for information of this new world, something needled her. The call for adventure. The need to feel useful. The thrill of new discoveries. Perhaps she would travel to the coast and further yet. Perhaps she would find her companions.
Rounding a corner, Laurelin felt the sudden collision in her bones. With a gasp, she reached out, hoping to catch the woman’s wrist before she fell.
Post by Laurelin Hawthorne on Oct 15, 2021 21:18:41 GMT -6
The river-polished stones glinted in the afternoon light. Laurelin squinted, failing to read the message that the seeress caught, if her sudden shift in demeanor was anything to go by. Dramatic, Laurelin noted, yet there was some truth behind the woman’s act. Seraphine was aptly named, for while not proficiently trained, faint magic simmered in her veins. Perhaps she does have the gift.
No doubt she had waken numerous times from a prophetic dream, frightened like the child she no longer was.
“Oh.” Aspen green eyes lit up as Seraphine got an idea. With a flair, she picked up the crystal ball with freckled hands, and flashed a dazzling smile. “Best convey with this, too, regarding your reading. It’s…rather chaotic.”
Laurelin kept a mask of neutrality at the phrasing. “By all means,” she said. At the sight of the crystal ball, memories of Matoya sprang to the mage’s mind, causing her heart to lurch for home.
“You’ve had a heavy fate,” Seraphine finally whispered, her ginger hair falling in loose ringlets, eying both the crystal and the stones. Neutral façade now broken, Laurelin’s smile grew tight. If only the prophetess knew the half of it. “I…see figures. Allies—no, friends. Dear friends. And I see battles. A lot of blood and death. But” —Seraphine jolted as if slapped— “Something haunts your steps, like—"
“Enough.” Laurelin raised a thinly scarred hand.
Seraphine started, taken aback, nearly dropping the crystal. “What?”
Rising with grace befitting her race, quarterstaff in hand, Laurelin stood. “I have heard enough, is all.” Her left hand trembled. It took every ounce of her willpower to make her next words come out coolly. “I merely must be on my way to deal with the rise in the Sahagin population.”
With that said, she placed a coin upon the table and hastened toward the exit of The Hero’s Haven, ignoring Seraphine's calling after her.
Normally, the fresh air would lighten her mood, reminding her of idyllic days. Being so near the ocean should have brought memories of sailing the seas. Of commandeering a pirate ship. Of glorious freedom.
The ocean only brought memories of the Kraken.
She swore she still heard the Fiend’s cackles being carried on the wind. Eyes widening, Laurelin jerked, turning to face the roaring waves. That was no cackle; that was no Fiend. A Sahagin’s cry was as recognizable as its scales and stench.
Swiveling, she held her staff aloft, keen eyes scanning the horizon. There! As it clawed its way out of the water and onto the shore, Laurelin noted something peculiar. Sahagin hunted in packs, yet this one was alone. Something got its attention.
Something like a child passed out on the white sand. The grip upon her Judgement Staff went white-knuckled. Red robes. Unconscious. Prey. It seemed fate was tossing fledgling mages her way. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, Laurelin hastened to intercept the monster creeping ever nearer, a spell Thundara upon her tongue.
The beast went down with a shriek. Laurelin released a relieved sigh. She had cleared harming the boy. Bridging the final distance between herself and him, she found her heart lurch again. It did seem as if her past was haunting her steps. For he wore did wear the robes of mages from her world.
She had wished to have some familiarity in an elsewise unfamiliar world and fate had obliged. Laurelin knelt and gave a gentle nudge to the lad’s shoulder. “Time to wake up,” she breathed. “Else you’re bound to catch a cold.”
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!
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.
