ERode

Dawn Beyond Tomorrow: A Magitech distant postapocalyptic action-adventure RP

Mm, not really vibing too much, so before I start holding people up, I'll just drop. Good look with the RP and I hope y'all have fun exploring!

Enter: Into an Isekai World

Gonna throw words about the torii, or we keep vibing, Ink?

Cacophony Concord

Magpie messed around (it was only funny if you were into boomer movies). Klein checked himself for hickies (there were none, thank god). Amulak offered to stick a centipede up in his friends’ spine. A few seconds elapsed since Ames pressed his hand against the white shell and felt something push back. And then, he saw an indentation push outwards from that oval-shape. It was small, perhaps even pointed, the protrusion that emerged from the white surface. The limb of a small child, or the tail of a lamia? Or something else entirely? Would monsters capable of what amounted to organized crime be so willing to leave their children or the fruits of the labor alone, with nothing to guard or protect it?

Raime, crouched by the grooves still, heard something. A high-pitched whining sound, needling into his virtual skull. Almost imperceptible vibrations, increasing in frequency. Not from below, but from around.

The magma from the singular pit in the room made its presence known aurally for the first time. It bubbled and boiled, molten rock frothing and hissing as it moved about.

What was happening?
_{@Shovel@Searat@Psyker Landshark@OwO@Yankee}

---

“Umph!” Bortz grunted in response, his knees bending. As Ari grabbed on, primed to kick off, the warrior hopped up as well, ice cracking off his body as he sent his upper body up out of the stream of ice, just in time for Ari to clear it as well. Even with the combined maneuver, however, the cat girl’s strength was not enough to meet her aspirations. At only twice the physical strength of an average adult human, she had hardly any airtime at all. A mere second, enough for her Maneater’s Sickle to reach the gyuki but not enough for her to survive the vestiges of the icy torrent.

The sickle sliced against the right eye, unable to pierce, but able to bludgeon. The gyuki let out a bleat of pain, rearing back as the last surge of icy breath blasted out. And Ari began to fall.

Into the flesh-cracking ice below.

But from within the torrent of ice, an armored hand surged out, palm up! Ari was no titan of might, but Bortz, even as a second stream blasted him from the other side, was no bitch! The weight of a single catgirl was not enough to cause his arm to even quake as she landed upon the rock-solid platform, granting her safety from the toxic breath of the beast that wrestled still with Droko. She had avoided damage still, but out in the open like this, with only a hand-sized platform to dance around in, Ari would have no safety, and Bortz’s own HP was continuing to drop from the sequential elemental breaths that he’d endured. Vator and Droko looked to be doing a number on the gyuki that breathed out the toxic torrent though, the bear-woman biting into the soft meat of the cow-demon’s lower jaw while the firestepping swordsman made swiss cheese out of its back. If they finished off the creature in time, then the four of them combined should make quick work out of the remaining gyuki.

As such thoughts passed through Ari’s mind, however, the ice-spitter’s form dissolved and disappeared, like a mirage evaporating once temperatures chilled.
_@GreenGoat

The Epic of Beginnings - Fragments of a weathered scroll

^{@Pyromania99@Rune_Alchemist}

Firebeard, the captain of the Iceguard? Isidore raised a brow. He had taken those short, stocky men as duplicitous but also pragmatic. Now he knew they had a sense of humor as well. Interesting as well, that Sorcha seemed to consider her magical abilities more of a talent than a technique. A repulsive electric blast, was it? Suppose it makes sense that someone as attractive as her would have skill in repelling undesirable individuals. Most interesting, however, was the explanation of the Fey as a third ‘existence’ in the trinity that was now Diety-Beast-Fey. Powerful, immortal, and most importantly, knowledgeable of a previous era. As the group walked through rows of massive, glowing fungi, Isidore slowed his steps a bit, matching his pace with Augusta’s.

“It’d be good to pay the Sirithen and their…Fey a visit. Storytellers are good liars,” he said, keeping his eyes ahead and alert. There were plenty of features within the mountain that made it conducive to extended living, from accessible water to presumably edible vegetation. Hard to keep track of time without the sun though, especially when his extranormal stamina meant that he couldn’t even judge the length of the hike by the exhaustion of his legs. Their journey came to a close after some time though, opening up into a cavern so expansive that Isidore stopped just to take in the sight. In the twilight of his life, he had possessed enough wealth to enjoy all the sights that had been denied in his youth, but even the most grand hotels in Europe could not compare to the beautifully alien landscape before him. Then, a quiet chuckle shook out of his chest as a vague memory resurfaced, of the village of Smurfs that he bought for his daughter, of all those mushroom huts.

The Urutha weren’t blue though, sadly. Just as pallid in complexion as one would expect out of a primarily subterranean race. Some were armed, and some were unarmed, but most importantly, some were prostitutes. Isidore gazed over towards the lantern-adorned building, at the well-proportioned women who slipped in and out of sight. After all the monstrosities and atrocities he had witnessed and partook in, the fruits of civilization was certainly a sight to behold. Earthier smells, savory and enticing, pulled his gaze towards the many mushroom-buildings that looked to be cooking a whole new culinary genre. Otherworldly food, with otherworldly theories. It’d been a good long while since he’s had a decent meal, and really, Isidore suspected the same for Augusta and Leuca. It almost spurred him into action, but…

Alas, he would not resort to thievery or thuggery just yet.

“Certainly a wonderful place, this Gloomhaven,” Isidore mused, for once looking genuinely relaxed as he addressed the others. “Though the queen may provide, I reckon some proper exploration shall be at hand once the politicking is concluded. I’ve no money, but a chunk of silver couldn’t be an unwelcome material for the smiths here, right Leuca?”

-FV-

Cacophony Concord

And so, with their sights set on the deepest cavern, the party set off into the eerie gloom of the Blasphemed Tunnels.

Though the cool air of the tunnels grew to something they all became accustomed to with time, neither Amulak nor Ames could totally shake off the strange goosebumps that crawled up the back of their necks. With the heightened supernatural sense that came with their particular classes, both could tell that there was something intrinsically twisted, taboo about the place. Whether it be negative energies, the spirits of the dead, or some black curse upon these particular lands, a curious tension built up in their bodies as they traversed through the underground network. Perhaps in due time, this spiritual sense would be something they became accustomed to as well, but for now, it felt like being brushed by feathers, and the only distraction the necromancer and animist had came from their actual, physical surroundings.

Such alertness was what made Amulak and Ames the ones to notice first the blockade of boulders boxing them into the tunnels. The gaki, flesh-eating specters with gaping mouths and mummified flesh, were at it again, phasing through the walls the moment the party stopped. Unaccustomed to such an ambush and unbalanced still from his lack of an arm, Raime was grappled immediately, his body dragged away from the rest as a swarm of hungry specters descended upon him. Klein, confident in his ability to tank now that he had just about double the HP of the other melee fighters, rushed into the dense ball of spirits to rip the ranger free, but became stalled in the mire of ghosts as well. His pain sensitivity levels may have been spiked all the way down so he didn’t become absolutely crippled by a strike in the gonads, but that didn’t prevent other sensations from psychologically tormenting him. Such as the sensation of having a half dozen mouths suckering on every part of his still-unarmored body, like a leathery kiss from a greatgrandpa who you never really knew.

Bad times, really.

But Amulak and Ames were prepared, and Amulak especially was equipped to blow up the swarm of gakis trying to pull apart Raime. Raining down unholy AOE, the necromancer tore a hole into the spectral mass large enough for Ames to dive in and pull Raime out before any fatal damage could be taken. Party assembled and prepared, the four of them all readied for a war of attrition against the undead.

Then, Magpie, with a singular gaki chewing on her left arm, drew her pickaxe back, allowed her HP to drop to 20%, flexed her 200 points of strength, and destroyed the blockade of boulders in a single swing. In the aftermath of the display of brute force, the swarm of gaki, showing for first time some semblance of intelligence, decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and sank back into the walls again. With that, the party continued on.

As they got closer and closer to the path that ought to have led to the deepest cavern, the stone they walked upon became slick with water that seeped out from adjacent walls. Moss, slimy and wet, clung to the surfaces whilst shedding their bioluminescent glow, and travel began to slow as everyone had to pick their paths more carefully. Amulak’s map had offered a good layout of the entire Blasphemed Tunnels, but clearly, the tunnels themselves had changed since; there was no mention of water before. And when they got to the mouth of the path leading down, it became clear that such an omission of detail was a hell of a bad oversight.

Steam rose up from the mouth of the incredibly steep tunnel, even as water continued to flow downwards. Staring from the entrance, it was hard to make out anything more than five meters beneath you, and considering the way the water flowed, it was hard to imagine if a fall would land you on stone or into boiling water. But the party’s choice had been made, and surely a group of superhumanly tough immortals with regenerative capabilities that could top them up from near empty to full in less than half an hour could survive a plunge anyhow. So they sucked in the last breath of cool air they could get, and began to climb down, one at a time.

Step by step, hand by hand, the party half-climbed, half-slid down the path. Was it easier for lamias to slither up and down? Were cold-blooded creatures comfortable in such humidity? What about the kidnapped children? The steam got into every orifice of their body, every crease of flesh becoming damp and sticky with sweat and water. No one had opted to ever purchase food or water before; Cacophony Concord didn’t have hunger meters, after all, but now, an ice-cold soda would’ve done wonders to their parched throats. Was this just another status effect? Or was this just their own psychology working against them? The humid steam thickened as they descended further. It became like a sauna.

Klein’s foot slipped. He stumbled back, planting his hand against the wall to stabilize, but that hand slipped as well. He fell, crashing into Magpie. Magpie was strong. Exceptionally so. On a good day, she could snap Klein like a twig on the football field. This was not a good day, and this was not a football field. With a jerk, she threw the man off her, and in doing so, sent Klein falling down onto Amulak.

Amulak didn’t stand a chance. His thick robes already made it hell to navigate down in the tunnel, and his Type-Guardian Nuclei certainly didn’t offer any answers here. The two fell down the slope of the tunnel in a tangle of limbs, Ames and Raime only barely managing to make it out of the way without slipping themselves. Moments later, Magpie, who had been unable to restore her own balance after all, rolled down after them, the three striking hard, hot rock: Amulak on the bottom, Klein in the middle, and Magpie elbow-dropping them from above.

But on the plus side, they made it. There was no pool of water after all, and as Raime and Ames joined the other three goons to step away from the mouth of the tunnel they just descended from, they found themselves in a cavern with the dimensions of a single-story house. The air was hot and dry, and the space was lit up by the suffocatingly red light of magma from a deep, almost well-like pool off on the opposite end. Though the cavern looked largely empty, oval-shaped containers made of some white material, perhaps large enough to contain a child tucked in a fetal position, were interspersed around the edge of the cavern. Raime, more accustomed to the humdrum of looking at the ground than the others, could see grooves in the ground as well. Lugh wasn’t here, but experience told everyone that Immortals who died turned into pixels anyhow.

Were those the signs of a fight had and lost?

The heat continued to addle the mind as sweat turned to salt in mere seconds.
_{@Shovel@Searat@Psyker Landshark@OwO@Yankee}

---

Cartwheeling through the air, the Maneater’s Sickle struck its mark, piercing point digging into the flesh as the gyuki tumbled in the opposite direction. Ari’s momentum was halved as she felt the yanking of the rope against her arm, but before she could be reeled into the spinning beast, her sickle was torn free, leaving a sizable gash in the gyuki’s side. A dark purple mist, sign of the monster’s more supernatural lineage, gushed out as its limbs and horns dug into the ground. It glared at Ari and Bortz, its nostrils and its body both inflating like a balloon.

It was obvious what was going to happen next, and with a hearty stomp, Bortz positioned himself in front of Ari, the head of his hammer pressed against the earth to anchor him down. Massive as he was, the man’s armored form completely covered the catgirl, just in time for the gyuki to shoot out a cone of white mist. Like the howl of winter, the strike of a blizzard, tendrils of cold blasted against Bortz, ice forming on the edges of his armor as he held firm. Amidst the roar of the ice breath, however, Ari could hear the sound of another deep breath.

From her side, the second gyuki had also inflated, having managed to somehow gotten atop of the bearshifted Droko while Vator clung atop it and stabbed away.

Would it blast the bear beneath it? Or would it aim to catch Ari while she was stuck sheltering behind Bortz? She had moments to decide.
_@GreenGoat

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

Does that mean that applications are now closed? If not, when?

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

Not even a fair food war. Dude's straight up trying to drug up his food with magic to make it more appealing. Wouldn't be surprised if he slipped some opium into the tea he makes.

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

_______________________________________________ // INFO P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S Full Name - Esfir Konishi Age - 19 Gender - Female Occupation - Musician - // PERSONALITY P E R S O N A L I T Y Diligent Esfir practices. She practices daily, her devotion to her craft continues whether day or night, rain or shine. There is an obsession in the way she pursues her goal, one that straddles the line between healthy and unhealthy. One's past determines one's future, and one's present determines one's past. With that in mind, the effort she puts in now will only improve her life moving forward, so no effort should be spared. Her craft continues to be honed, each note plucked, each word sung bringing her closer and closer to... Reserved Esfir endures. Her thoughts are her own, her dreams are her own, and the secrets that others share with her are secrets that she safeguards as intensely as her own. A wonderful confidant, a mirror that only reflects what others wish to see, she continues to listen, continues to watch, all while she plays her music and sings her songs. It is a rare virtue in one so young, to have a predilection towards a comfortable silence, and yet be predisposed towards such a public craft, but perhaps such contradictions only... Charming Esfir smiles. Her voice is quiet but firm, her gesticulations controlled but warm. When she tells a story, she tells it with the entirety of her being, possessed by her craft. When she whittles away time with friends, her eyes dance to the world around them, drawing in beauty and comedy hidden on the side of the road. Perhaps there's a bit of stinginess. Perhaps there is a bit of selfishness. But those, perhaps, are just the flaws of her youth, fractures that give her friendliness golden veins to endear her to those surrounding her. Every quality has its place... // SKILLSET S K I L L S E T The Musician Esfir plays a four-stringed instrument. She's self-taught. She's practiced for her entire life. Her skill, for all that, is only serviceable but quite imaginative. Unconstrained by prescriptive learning, she draws her inspiration from the sounds of the valley, imitating the scattering of leaves and the trickling of stream with voice and string. With a proper teacher, she could be further along than where she is. But meandering is a pleasure reserved for those who are loved, and she will take full advantage of that. The Liar A good storyteller is a good liar, and Esfir is both. A solitary teardrop to create a scene of beautiful sadness. A belly-aching laugh to formulate camaraderie. An apologetic wince to encourage others to visit another day. Her reservations and her charm melt together into the fiction she weaves, at once candid and delusory. She does not demand truths, but rather requests faith. Never for harm though; only for the benefits of all. Ignorance is a pleasure best enjoyed alongside validation, and she will gladly offer such to her patrons. The Traveler Her inspiration comes from around her, but she has long inscribed the sounds of the village into her mind. Esfir, for her craft, has learned to travel out when her patronages allow for it, trekking through the brush of the valley in order to look for what she seeks. A unique sound. A unique scene. Anything that could be used. Anything that could remind. She's neither fast, nor is she strong, but Esfir has learned her own pacing, learned how to move and sleep safely. Adventure is a pleasure best enjoyed when one is equipped to face dangers, but alas, Esfir eschews violence and thus only travels.

Physical Description Standing at 5’1, Esfir cuts a slender figure, her skin sun-kissed and creamy, her eyes a deep magenta hue. She keeps her long, platinum blonde hair in a braid, tuck away under patterned cloths when necessary. Her chest is modest, her legs well-built, her fingernails cut short. Though her small smiles have a certain air of mystery to it, never let it be said that Esfir has a beautiful set of teeth: though relatively clean, they’re misaligned, an overbite that caused her plenty of grief as a young child. As an adult, she just opts to not open her mouth too wide when singing. Her attire is a selection of cheap fabrics that, over the years, she has dyed and patterned until they resembled something exotic and eye-catching. There are a few shiny trinkets and baubles that she wears on an on-and-off basis, depending on the occasion and who she's likely to see. Her shoes are less remarkable compared to the rest of her attire, naught more but than a pair of sturdy jika-tabi, but she treats them more preciously than the rest. Clothing is easily replaceable. A good pair of shoes are not. Character Conceptualization Her father left her three things to remember him by. Her name, constructed of uncommon sounds that did not relate to any particular words. His instrument, which had one string too many to be a shamisen. And a half-forgotten memory, a lullaby that arrested her soul even in her infancy. Sometimes, Esfir would remember it in its entirety within a dream, only to wake up with the vestiges of it slipping through the gaps of her mind. Sometimes, Esfir would catch a bar or a phrase from the song of a bird or the breathing of a mountain, only for the notes to be drowned out by the noise of the world. Never long enough to give it back fully. Always long enough to tempt her to continue. It’s a worthless pursuit, for a worthless woman. In an agrarian society such as Heiseina, there is no demand for music. The radio tower warbles out music of greater complexity than achievable by a single performer, and the notes of a stringed instrument does little to chase away the more immediate desires of the body. If one had time to idle away, they could fish instead. Hunt. Forage. Till their fields and grow their crops. Any talent for the arts should be used to fuel the pursuit of an artisan. In a village of one hundred, it’s much too easy to notice when people did not do their part, and easier still to malign them for it. Brats who besmirched their family’s name. Scions who would not surrender their wombs. Outsiders dark and strange. But Esfir, a girl with a strange name who did nothing but pluck at the strings of a strange instrument, who could not produce a single physical good, who was dependent solely on the charity of the villagers like an aged beggar with no family to care for them, was beloved. Was it her openness, her willingness to fraternize with whomever walked past? Was it her filial piety, her desire to care for a bedridden, homebound mother? Was it her dedication, how her music never silenced itself no matter the weather, the season, the occasion? From childhood to adolescence, she sat somewhere in the village, strumming out curious, delightful notes. At the river’s edge, for the fishermen to time their net-dragging to. Out on farmland, entertaining farmers enjoying their noontime respite. In the village’s plaza, melting away time as craftsmen waited for work. When did malignance shift to curiosity to endearment? No one really knows, and few linger upon such thoughts. Esfir is a strange girl, but a good girl, they say. Her mother can’t teach her any crafts, and no one was certain who her father was. No doubt, there was some family shame, some misery that made Esfir such a private individual, but that was fine, and it wasn’t as if she became rich off her charity. Just food enough to fill out her frame, with some extra gifts when her unique craft suited the unique occasions. The apothecary had more wealth to be jealous of. The Fujiwaras had more power to be jealous of. And there were more egregious persons within the village to malign. Her kindness is given for free, her craft is for all to enjoy, her desires are simple and just, and thus, she is loved. Only in the occasional anecdote does anyone remember her mother, Taeko Konishi, anymore. It is never a good time to visit that bedridden woman, and Esfir is always there to apologetically turn well-wishers and physicians away at the door. Questions emerge, but the desire for domestic privacy too, is a simple and just desire. Other Information Occasionally, Esfir scrounges together enough coinage to hire a woodsman to accompany her through the more treacherous sections of the valley's wilderness, in search of fresh inspiration. Over the years, Esfir's four-stringed instrument has changed greatly. Neither her nor Anayo are experts at the craft, but the two of them have on occasion scrounged through scrap and ruins to find a suitable replacement. Though cautioned against it by more reputable folk, Esfir plies her craft to those within Heiseina who're considered less favorable as well. In these...exchanges, she asks for nothing, but is always alert for something.

Enter: Into an Isekai World

The problem solved itself. If only all problems could do that.

Ohta let out a breath as the gunman, perhaps driven by some irrational fear of the dark, ran off into the distance, taking himself and his gun far, far away. Maybe he’ll be a problem in the future, but for now, they could all breathe a bit more clearly. He shook his head, then stood up, allowing his own eyes to adjust to the darkness. Only 50% or so left for his charge. Shouldn’t waste it until they got somewhere with reception. The direction the gunman went was annoying though. He didn’t really want to head in the direction of the torii, in case that fucking idiot took that as a sign of pursuit and started shooting, but if there was going to be any paved path out of here, it would be from the torii.

So he suggested instead.

“Maybe, uh, we should go after him?” He pocketed his phone and clutched his lunchbox to his chest. “At least up to the torii there. Might be, mm, a path out from there.”

One thing convenient about the gunman: his scene meant that self-introductions could be delayed for a bit longer. More time to judge whether it’d be a truth or a lie that Ohta used to identify himself to these strangers.