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.
[attr="class","wiingtop4"]I'll admit you have the courage, but have you the wits?
[attr="class","wiingpost"]
It’s the right thing to do — the remark had Setro crack a smile, small though it may be, because the man was indeed true to the mark. There wasn’t a need to do any sort of grand standing or something akin to it, either. They were warriors. Regardless of what guided their fates, it would stain their honour to elect inaction over doing what was right. This Auron was a man of honour and integrity, virtues that have already gained the warrior of light’s respect.[break][break]
“Well met, Auron.” The armoured knight offered a bow of his head in courtesy of the crimson garbed warrior. No sooner than when he tipped his crown, however, did the wailing resume its exasperating regiment, forcing Setro to look back and ponder. Why was its tone ever changing? Was it out of desperation to see if something stuck? Or was bravado their game and the echoed screams are the last vestiges of its prey? Most wouldn’t spare a second thought and trailblaze their way in to slay the creature, yet the warrior stayed that vengeful path. He would not blithely cut down a monster if it had sentience, worse yet, if it was merely looking after its kin.[break][break]
“Yet nothing is fleeing from the sound— our wayward Chocobo ran towards it, in fact.” Taken by the statement, the warrior gave pause before inevitably stating, “Grasping at straws will not avail us. We must steel ourselves and press onward.”[break][break]
Setro was resolute in his conviction. Whatever may come, be it beast or otherwise, he will cut it down in the name of the light. But he must remind himself that as stalwart as he is, Auron may not share that zealous outlook. No judgement, of course. The warrior just felt that a quiver of fear or hesitation will invite a crack in their armour, and the man in red has already suffered a glancing blow— wait.[break][break]
Just like that, the warrior’s body straightened up as if just remembering something. His gait was then altered into a slow pace towards Auron, whereupon he rummaged through the small satchel on his person and offered the man a potion. “Here,” Setro said, holding it betwixt the two before adding, “— it should help alleviate the pain. 𝙄 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩.” The latter part of his comment was accompanied by what looked like a smirk. For warriors such as them, that smirk was one of acknowledgement. Auron and Setro are men of honour and humility, oft times to a fault, even. To put it bluntly — Setro was politely denying Auron a chance to refuse this boon.
[attr="class","wiingtop4"]I'll admit you have the courage, but have you the wits?
[attr="class","wiingpost"]
Words born from anguish were followed swiftly by those seeking forgiveness. Admittedly, if this injury coincided with the Chocobo’s abrupt departure, the warrior wouldn’t fault the man. He couldn’t — more than just his body suffered a glancing blow, but perhaps his pride too. Setro knew better than to throw salt on the wound, much less rub it in. So rather than dwelling on it, the warrior turned the proverbial page with a simple yet unfazed reply of “Think nothing of it.” As he said this, he quietly eased his sword back into its sheath before lowering the hand altogether. Try as they might to impose caution, as it stands, they were both stranded in these woods with nary a visible way out.[break][break]
As they made their exchange, Setro sized the man up and down, noting the ludicrously large sword he seemed to carry with ease. This man saw conflict, of that there is no doubt, yet his attire and overall atmosphere were not of this realm, or so he’d healthily assume. Rather than tarry with his thoughts, the armour clad warrior would make an attempt to bridge what he suspected. To that end, he turned to properly face the other before stating, “It would seem we suffer the same predicament, though.”[break][break]
“I am Setro,” he said, surveying their surroundings whilst adding, “— I trekked through these woods to reach the nearby city, but this forest portends possible deceptions, the foremost being…” The warrior’s voice was drowned out by a shriek not unlike the last, yet pools of cerulean sharpen as he turns towards the perceived origin of such a ghastly howl and boldly stating, “That.”[break][break]
That wailing screech left an indelible atmosphere in its wake, the kind that would’ve left any lesser man racked with fear. Yet here he stood against it, an unwavering pillar with naught a hint of fear. Setro would not suffer this, and something told him the other warrior undoubtedly felt the same.[break][break]
“We are beset by this foul mimicry. Retreating would be the wisest choice.” No sooner than when the warrior voiced this, his head tipped forward, ever so slightly as he looked down to the floral menagerie laid out before them. His next comment, albeit a mite quieter, was a ponder more than anything else. “Yet we would expose others by doing nothing.”[break][break]
The moment Setro said that, his decision was set in stone.
[break][break]
Raising his head, the warrior turned back to his kin in the crimson garb, his face unblemished by doubt or fear and emboldened by selfless righteousness. “I will travel deeper into these woods. If you are of the same mind, I would welcome both company and steel. But if your concerns lie elsewhere, then I wish you well on your travels.” Setro was a straightforward soul whose words were never minced nor left up to interpretation. Truly, he wouldn’t judge the man should he value self-preservation… but the life of a warrior is seldom that.
[attr="class","wiingtop4"]I'll admit you have the courage, but have you the wits?
[attr="class","wiingpost"]
From towering peaks to stagnant swamps, the warrior of light seemed to be so cruelly tested by the powers that be. Although gaining moments of reprieve, they were that and nothing more— mere moments. But a soldier embraces these transitory windows and spare gratefulness aplenty. It could be their last. Now, Setro wasn’t the sort to dwell on doubts, nor the kind to let malaise settle in so comfortably. No, he perseveres, for his friends and the crystal and yet it’s the latter that haunts his mind as of late. Ever since his arrival to the realm of Isoria, the crystal has fallen silent.[break][break]
He has theorised a myriad possibilities, ranging from dimensional interference to a lack of an over looming threat that requires the likes of him. Whatever the case may be, without the crystal’s guidance, for the first time in a long time, Setro was alone. Without direction. Without comradery. Spirited away to a world with nary a reassurance that his comrades survived… Yet he soldiers on nonetheless.[break][break]
Travelling south from the marshlands, Setro was aided by both traveller and patrons alike, having been given a boon of resources to make it through the woods and to the intended destination; Provo. Of all the cities, Provo is where Outlanders frequent the most. With some hope, his luck will pay off once he gets there.[break][break]
Fate, however, had other plans for the warrior, as his arrival to these woods instilled a palpable sensation that he was being watched.[break][break]
The density of these woods only grew the further he traversed, yet anyone dwelling within would be assailed by the ever changing warmth and cold emanating throughout the forest. Thankfully, Setro kept his wits about him— his comrade who excelled in white magic once noted that fluctuations like such can cause dizziness, amongst other lesser things. So, from that recollection, the warrior surmised this erratic change could’ve very well been purposeful. Worse yet, the promise of debilitation could make one an easy prey for whatever threats lurk within.[break][break]
Though his sword hand remained to his side, Setro kept his shield close by. He figured that perhaps waltzing through the woods armed with his blade might incite provocation, a decision that until now seemed of sound mind to make. A good decision, as a piercing screech cut a swath through the forest, prompting the warrior to raise his shield out of reflex. But when pools of cerulean gaze into the thicket, there was naught to be gleaned. The end of these noises seemed to have yet reached its crescendo, for a loud and frightful squawk caused Setro to swiftly turn around. Was he to be beset by confusion with these noises? That answer was soon answered.[break][break]
From the dense silhouette beyond him came the hurried sounds of a frightened Chocobo, rushing past the warrior and careening yonder into the deep woods that lay just beyond him. Then came another moment, short in duration but a much needed one to gather his thoughts. ‘It is as if this forest is possessed.’ His breathing steadied as Setro pondered what could portend from that train of thought. But in that silence, a chuckle left his lips. Quick, quiet, savoured only by himself as he muttered, “It would seem adversity favours me a little too much as of late.”[break][break]
That interim left no sooner than it came once the sound of footsteps could be registered. Looking to the source of the sound, Setro kept his shield up, hiding the hand that began to coil around the grip of his sword as another silhouette began pushing through from the thicket of trees. What he saw was a man weathered by the same tribulations he so recently endured, yet seeming to favour one side over the other. Perhaps…[break][break]
“Excuse me,” said Setro, “— I don’t suppose the Chocobo that sped into the woods was yours?”[break][break]
Once the feline loosened her grip, he would lean back to make her dismount a mite easier before turning around to hear her delineate what they had to do during this time of uncertainty; the same uncertainty that forced her to spare Setro from potentially inundating him. However, akin to a fresh wound, he refrained from spreading salt on it, but rather offered a means to mend it with a bandage, figuratively speaking. As such, he would spare her the spiel of sympathy, which was an unwitting service because the warrior was a man of action and perseverance — something she might very well prefer over sensitivity.
“Well met, Y’shtola. I am Setro, a knight of Cornelia. I was spirited away to this world, so I know not of our surroundings.” The warrior rests one arm across his stomach whilst the other sits atop it, adopting a ponderous stance as his hand hovers against his lips. “The automatons did indeed appear fixated. Perhaps they can discern foreign magics. As it stands, without a staff, our options have grown thin.” Voicing the over looming tribulations they are beset by, he kept his steely blue gaze upon the feline. But shortly after, they widened with a wayward curiosity as he looked down to his personal effects, namely his shield.
“Y’shtola,” paused Setro, filling the air with metallic footsteps as he approached a safe distance from the woman before inquiring, “... permit me to voice an idea. My shield— I admit it is no staff, but it is capable of channelling defensive spells at my disposal.” For Y’shtola, the following sound was Setro gripping his shield and holding it aloft their waists. With that, the warrior finally asks, “Could you use it as a temporary medium for your magic until we find your staff or something of equivalent value?”
“You sayin’ you came north from the valley?” “Yes. That is where I awoke. I intended to traverse the mountains, yet without a means to mend possible injuries, I knew I would fare better heading south.”
As the patron of the bar prepared a pint of water, he talked to the warrior whilst grabbing a gourd and pouring its content. “That’s smart thinking, fella. Ya’ look like you know your way around a fight, but with spiders, bats an’ lord knows what else hidin’ in them mountains— that place would've been your grave.” Shortly after, he slid the cup over with a quick, “Here you go,” before sealing the gourd and stowing it away. Setro had replied with a quiet, “Thank you,” roping his fingers around the pint and having a small drink soon after. Talking to the wizened man availed Setro aplenty by way of filling in the gaps he could not.
This was the realm of Zephon, and individuals like Setro — those spirited away from their own worlds, are known as Outlanders. He had met another prior to his arrival to the marshes, but by the sounds of it, this phenomenon transpired long before their emergence. Some have even established themselves and formed bands composed of other outlanders. Whilst Setro wouldn’t so naively ascribe to the notion that his allies had found their way into these organisations, or that they wound up in Zephon at all. But hope sustains him and discarding the possibility is a fool’s gamble. If his friends were here, the warrior of light would find them.
After another morsel sip of water, the warrior rests his cup upon the wooden parchment before asking, “What can you tell me of these marshlands?” The aged gentleman flashed Setro a perked brow over the question before letting out a warm, shoulder raising chuckle. “Ain’t much ta’ know. The only things worth knowin’ is the marsh is home to ghouls an’ other kinda beasties lurking in the waters, but some of the merchants pay a pretty gil to anyone willing to help ‘em through the marshes.” Even when the new arrival graced the establishment with her presence, their banter continued unimpeded.
“You’re lookin’ to make some gil, aren’t you?” Asked the smug patron. “I doubt the merchants will offer their wares without compensation.” “Haha! True, true. I guess you know your way ‘round a few other things too.” “I am a quick learner.”
Her silence carried a weight Setro could sympathise with. A warrior’s shortcomings are oft suffered in silence, usually by one’s own volition. Addressing it would be akin to throwing salt on a fresh wound. But once there was a considerable heft of her forearms across his chest-plate— a sign of the feline’s preparedness, their tarrying was over. With clenched fists, he hooks his arms around and under her legs, bracing her frame to his before coming to a stand. How strange it would’ve felt, to know her weight seemed no more than a trifle to the knight. In the instance prior to the intended path, Setro took in a deep breath, nodded and would say with a quiet yet firm tone, “Let us be off.”
The first step was slow in nature as he slightly hunched over. Understandably one might discern this as him being unable to bear her weight. Immediately after, however, Setro, with the feline in tow, broke off into a tenaciously fast pace. Whatever flora impeded them was broken through and whatever could’ve compromised his footing was leapt over, all the while showing no signs of slowing down or loosening his grip. As a warrior, he made it a habit of disciplining his body to peak performance. As such, he had the tactical foresight to train in events like this. A good payoff.
That payoff would be tested soon enough after a few seconds. What Setro couldn’t see from yonder was the gorge betwixt where they are and where they needed to be. Ever the steadfast man that he is, the warrior persisted in that hastened pace but quickly exclaimed, “Brace yourself!” No more than a few seconds later, the feline would be subjected to that hunched feeling she had endured before this all transpired. Cobbling together the amalgamation of strength and momentum, Setro exhaled a grunt as he catapulted them both over the large crevice.
Throughout all this, Setro would have figured being sightless would warrant her a modicum of fear and uncertainty— yet he held her firmly no matter what. She trusted him for this task, a task that came to fruition once he landed. The impact ran through them both like a shock as the warrior of light dug his feet in, skidding across earth and stone until edging into the aforementioned grotto and coming to a gradual halt. A barely audible pant hushed its way through his lips, but recuperation came after his stated. “Forgive the abrupt landing, but we made it.”
In his haste, he had overlooked that ailment, and albeit this being their first encounter, once she exclaimed that debilitation, Setro quickly helped her up. “Forgive me.” It was succinct yet sincere, given their current predicament, but the feline had to rely on his sight for a time. So when she had asked if there were any discernible cover they could utilise, the silence she would perceive thereafter was him scanning their surroundings. He had to be quick, lest they garner the attention of an automaton.
Setro would fare well against such an adversary, but he won’t risk her getting caught in the crossfire.
Littered throughout the valley were noticeably large bodies of debris, ideal for protection but could be susceptible to compromise. Not good enough. It is nature that will aid their endeavour, something that thankfully came in abundance, and with Setro’s distraction still holding sway, these two were allotted with ample time. His observations finally bore fruit when those clear, cerulean hues popped with a mixture of relief and hope — beyond their aggressors lies what appeared to be a small grotto.
His attention, however, was stifled by her lamentations, urging him to look back at her. She was capable, that much Setro knew. Mayhaps the grief of acknowledging her vulnerability outweighed her malaise. “You have nothing to apologise for, my lady. Though we are beset by tribulations, you still draw breath.” His voice, though stern like a hardened warrior, carried with it an indelible warmth.
What she would hear next is metal smothered by leather as the warrior sheathed his sword. Stepping closer, he quickly uttered, “I’ve located what appears to be a grotto nearby. But we must act quickly before these machines return.” There was a shift and turn, a process whereupon he turned his back to her before taking both her hands and roping them over his shoulders. The modicum of delicacy Setro applied was a vast improvement from his prior handling. With both of them in position, he finally asks, “Are you ready?”
“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?”
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.”
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?”
