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I'm making a (semi)live D&D 5th edition campaign on Discord. Message me if interested.
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The worst part about is when it’s all your fault.
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I never conquered, rarely came...


If you're here because I viewed you, I admittedly just like clicking people on the status bar randomly.

Call me Jerell.

18 / Leo

If it isn't obvious, the Fate series is one of my favorites.

I like to play video games. I also am a fan of comics, action movies, and anime. Pretty geeky if you ask me.

Soulsborne games are my absolute favorite kinds of games. Ever. I also am a trash person, and therefore like to play MOBAs

My favorite genre is High Fantasy, although I also like other flavors of medieval fantasy, as well. Steam/clock/cyberpunk is cool too. Sci-Fi, well, it depends...

Most Recent Posts

Black Rider

Einzbern Forest

@Paradox Witch@Crusader Lord@Kyuuzen

That speed... no, he's truly inhuman! It can't be helped, then...

As soon as Saber came dashing in with the speed something only a command spell could feasibly produce, three things had occurred. One, Rider's body had jerked on its own, as if it acted on its own, boosted with a burst of prana. The capabilities of Rider to fight against things of inhuman nature was inlaid upon his body like a curse, a burden it bears after being soaked in the blood of countless beasts. Despite this, however, this particular burden placed on Rider's body is only able to draw upon the skills and techniques used to fight things beyond human, not to emulate their physical capabilities. Even if Rider had accepted the full blessing that his command spell would entail, which he didn't, his speed would still be considered sluggish compared to the god-like speed that Lucius has displayed. Rider wished to avoid the blade altogether, but his main intent was to ensure that, even if it did land, it wouldn't pierce through anything lethal.

Second came Falke, who had also rushed over with a burst of quickness that would normally be impossible for beasts of its nature. If it meant it would save its prince's life, however, then even Falke is capable of accomplishing the impossible. Indeed, in Rider's story, Falke had served as a Deus Ex Machina of sorts, always appearing at Rider's worst moments to save his life without fail. While it isn't capable of Spatial Transference, because 'saving the day' is something of a second nature to Falke, it wouldn't be hard to say that its speed in this sort of scenario wouldn't draw close. As the black steed leaped for Saber, it through a mighty kick to his side in an attempt to throw his aim off, moving at one with Rider's movements.

Finally, Rider would shift the movement of his sword, taking advantage of Saber's ridiculous advance. Directing Mimung towards Saber's chest, Rider directed the sudden influx of magical energy into Mimung itself, empowering the blade in an attempt to charge the blade with even more magical energy. Rider had hoped that, by powering Mimung with his own prana, the concept of 'cutting' that it carries will be reinforced. Indeed, as a blade that transfers energy around it into light in order to actualize a blade of energy carrying the blade's true purpose, it would only make sense that Prana Burst, which infuses one's weapons and body with magical energy, would also extend to Mimung's true power. With the excess energy given to him by the Command Spell, Rider had only hoped it would be enough to deter his overwhelming opponent, at the very least.

Black Rider

Einzbern Forest

@Paradox Witch@Crusader Lord@Kyuuzen

Saber had almost instantaneously appeared in front of Rider before he could complete his attack, much to his surprise. While he was already aware of the pressure being placed on him from Saber's command, he was still used to moving at speeds faster than his opponent. The only man he wasn't confident in beating at such speeds was his established rival, and even then, he was still able to move fast enough to defend against his blows. When up against Saber, however, it felt as if his energy had been sapped away from him. Rider realized he was truly facing a man worthy of the influence he had in life.

As soon as their swords were about to clash, Rider had indeed saw it. The opening afforded to him. To his steed, Falke, who was nevertheless too slow to reach that window, still made its way to join the battle, regardless, as if following its prince's intuition to the letter. To Rider, though, he knew that as soon as he would turn this fight into that of close quarters, his opponent would easily turn this to his advantage. Indeed, Rider had expected that a man as worldly as Lucius Tiberius would be skilled in the martial arts of countless lands under the control of his empire. Rider knew that fighting a master of just one was already a mistake, so closing in for the legs was a mistake. As a matter of fact, anything that his instincts would sense that wasn't an assured kill was something Rider would choose to ignore.

Instead, Rider started to move back, intercepting the attacks from Saber with his blade and evading his opponent's blows whenever he can. As soon as their blades clashed, Rider was in awe of Saber's sheer power, something that no mere human could ever achieve. It was in Rider's best intent to find a way to stop this battle as soon as possible, but he knew he couldn't just out-strength his opponent. While Rider continued to make a fighting retreat in order to try and retake the range that he had, he-

... Wait, no. That strength, that speed... That isn't how to go about it at all.

This man... Lucius Tiberius... he was no man. He was a beast.

Monster Breaker: ACTIVE

The man know as Lucius Tiberius was, indeed, an ordinary man in life, who was still extraordinary in strength. Indeed, to best Arturus, a king with a similar draconic nature to Rider, in feats of strength and arms was nothing to scoff at. As a Servant, however, his Saint Graph is forcibly altered to match in physical capabilities, exceeding that which a normal human can accomplish. In other words, Saber's existence could be considered as beyond human, entering the realm of a beast. And to Rider, who has fought and killed much stronger beasts to the point of genocide, this strength was something he was too used to.

In fact, it only hardened his resolve. And his anger.


Rider had begun to focus on avoiding his blows, using a mix of skill and his own inhuman speed. This didn't stop his opponent from being faster than him, but Rider's very body was ingrained with fighting against such speeds. Rider also felt that these countless blows were made not with any skill in mind, but as a showcase of power. It made complete sense to Rider, knowing of this man's arrogance, and who would blame Saber for showing off, anyway? With the strength of a giant, one could have anything they so wished, and could just strike down those who say otherwise.

As Rider would know best out of anyone, however, attacking with such strength had its own caveats; ones that he could take advantage of. As soon as his instincts, honed to monstrous men such as Saber, had sensed the specific opening he was looking for, Rider made his attack. Rider jumped back and, with a burst of magical energy, swung Mimung with as much strength as he could muster against Florent with the intent of breaking the blade. What should be notable about this blow, however, was that Rider swung with the direction Florent was swinging at, rather than against it, as a means of throwing Saber off through the momentum of his own swing. It was an attack meant to fight off against opponents with the strength of giants, using the weight of their own heavy blows against them.

"Behold, giant... the ground!"

Not even a second Rider had completed his attack, Falke had finally made its charge from behind Saber, fired up with the same monster-slaying instincts that shared with its own rider. Launching itself forward, Falke threw a kick at Saber's back with the same kick it had used to kill one who could be considered a Hero among Giants. Of course, to Saber, who had sported similar instincts to his opponent, he could easily turn around and deal with Falke easily, assuming he could afford opening himself to Rider.

Either way, Rider lunged Mimung forward while Falke ducked its head, aiming right for the Sword Emperor's heart.
Lies and slander Done

Sorry for the hold-up. Went with a Blood Hunter, after all. Introducing Emil Simonov!

And in case you were making tokens, here's the image I had in mind for his.
Theoderic the Great's true Noble Phantasm is now revealed in honor to commemorate his oncoming death. Spoiler alert, he is definitely actually a Saber.

Black Rider

Einzbern Forest

@Paradox Witch@Kyuuzen@Crusader Lord

Rider was in a foul mood. Throughout the war, he had hoped to find a challenge worthy of his legend. He was uninterested in facing off lesser foes, having sought out only those worthy to face the mettle of his blade. In the end, however, while he had found a warrior, no, a dragon worthy of facing him, he chose to instead focus on retreating, as if he treated their battle as some mere joke. His other rival, who had looked rather weary from their last fight, had also lost his weapon that night, and the idea of fighting him without that spear would give Rider a feeling of discomfort. Rider's anger only festered throughout the night as evident by the many trees brought down before him. Even his loyal steed, Falke, looked to Rider, worried of his prince's well-being.

"Falke, let's get going. If I couldn't find that bastard knight and his little lover in Shinto, it only narrows down our choic-"

... Rider froze in his tracks as soon as he felt that presence. He felt... greatness, as if he were to face off against another paragon of humanity; and yet, it wasn't something that pleased Rider. Not at all. As soon as he felt the land metaphorically singing praises and heralding the man that had come after him had Rider known that this opponent was somebody he does not want to face. There was nothing, however, that could stop Rider from fleeing. It was not in his nature to run, and there was something else about that man that called to Rider.

It was an opponent that he must face, as much as he shouldn't.

The name he was beckoned with. The command that was given to him. The blessed looking armor. The sickly red sword. The sword. These factors about his opponent had all confirmed Rider's suspicions as to who he was facing. If he wasn't the man that he was, he would find it right to run, to flee from such a man, one who had walked with the footfalls of an empire, but he could not find it within him to run. As a matter of fact, he was almost physically unable to, feeling the pressure of his opponent's, that Emperor's call to arms. This fight was going to happen, whether or not Rider chose for it to happen.

Such a command also had the effect of making Rider even angrier.

"... Let's make this worth our time." Rider had growled through gritted teeth as he looked to his opponent, drawing that traitorous knight's blade once again. He briefly considered drawing his shield, as well, but it was a thought that was quickly dismissed. Indeed, if he were to face off against that man who had fought and overpowered the King of Knights despite being otherwise ordinary, then he would require the full control of his blade and his body to defend, to avoid his attacks. Even without his instincts, Rider knew enough that he would not want to take his chances against the strikes from that sword.

And, with a burst of his own energy, Rider had charged towards that Saber. On his way way there, orbs of dragon's fire, intensified by Rider's growing rage, had been thrown to his opponent. It was a flurry of flames with the power to best most men, yet at the same time, Rider had only used them as a means of a distraction. If this Saber he was facing truly was the Sword Emperor, then even Rider's flames would serve as a mere nuisance to him, an inconvenience at the most.

Rider needed his opponent's senses to be occupied, after all, in order to perform his next attack. Rider's sword, which he held with both hands, began to crackle with golden lightning as he made his way closer to his opponent, and when he was close enough- which would still be considered many meters too far from the range of Rider's blade- he had shouted that dastardly blade's name.
Sword of Deceitful Victory

With Rider's call, the energy crackling within the blade coalesced into a sustained beam of light, the energy surrounding it being converted into true ether in order to maintain its shape. The blade of light had extended Mimung's effective range into that comparable to a spear's, and Rider had chosen to take advantage of this blade's aspect while he can. As soon as Lucius Tiberius was in range of Mimung, Rider would cleave it through his opponent, aiming to bisect him; a slash with the intent to kill.

The true effect of Mimung is to cleave through armor as if it were cloth, the energized sword pouring out from his blade carrying the concept of 'cutting'. It was with this effect combined with the method Rider used it to nullify the magical defenses of his opponent that made his attack much more dangerous to his opponent. As soon as his slash was completed, whether it managed to strike Saber true or not, Rider had shifted his stance into a defensive one, placing his blade in front of him in a matter where he would be able to quickly intercede any attacks made by his opponent with it, provided that Saber had made the distance, something that Rider wouldn't allow. His goal in this fight is to maintain an aggressive defense, taking advantage of everything he can to defend against Saber's attacks while capitalizing on any openings he could find. Saber wasn't an opponent he was interesting in gauging, instead focusing on killing him as soon as possible while making sure that Rider, himself, was not hit.

Rider's instincts flared as they prepared to help him engage in a battle he could so easily lose...

Fujimura Syndicate

Native District, Miyama

@Sageage@Argonaut@Seirei no Hai@Floodtalon

The Yakuza focused on entrenching themselves into what territory they had, making sure to keep control of their larger places of operation while migrating away from the smaller ones. As they traveled throughout the night, in groups, to the larger territories they owned, they focused more on protecting the refugees under their belt than they did with whatever resources they had previously. They were forced to travel light, after all, looking to get to their destinations as fast as possible. On the bright side, they had the aid of two exceptional martial artists; the Horse of Fuyuki, and, uh... a foreign girl named Riyu. However, between the rioters, the Mafia, and rumors of a bloodsucker roaming the streets, the Yakuza were having a rough time. They would accept just about any help given to them at this point...

... Except for some Mafia handouts. The Fujimura Syndicate ain't no rats!

Hours Ago...

Marching through the wasteland known formerly as Miyama Town was a man, one whose greatness rivals the vastness of the plains that he walked. He wore a long, white coat with its collar popped, mostly plain aside from the writing printed on the back in an Eastern script; it would read '藤村', or in English, 'FUJIMURA'. Underneath this coat was nothing but a pair of trousers, revealing some of the man's expectantly toned physique. His trousers were made of denim, a rather rare fashion choice for a man of this era, especially in the East, as they clung somewhat tightly to his legs. It was unknown if his belt buckle, a horseshoe pointing up, was a symbol of fortune, a callback to a fond memory, or just a love for horseback riding. His boot, which were embroidered in a way similar to the ones seen in the American West, indicated that it might have been the latter, with only a pair of spurs keeping the ensemble from being complete.

None of these things, however, were as notable as the man's hair. Standing upright and shining as the sun's rays bounced off it, it served as some sort of insignia, or symbol that would best identify the man in question. Like the top of a mountain, the roof of a skyscraper, or the sorin of a pagoda, it stood tall. It was a sandy brown beacon of human providence, hopes and dreams piled high on its bushy peak. It was a pompadour, a hairstyle that, while unpopular in the current age, would soon be the iconic symbol in the future for an age of cool. It was a fitting hairstyle for a man who has become 'human prosperity given form.'

As the man continued traversing the wastes, the sun had begun to shine over his face to a point where even his glorious could not shade his eyes from its bright rays, he simply dug a hand into his coat pocket. From it, he produced a pair of spectacles, tinted black, in a style that's so not fitting the current era; indeed, it wasn't that it was 'too modern,' no, but that it was 'too cool' for the current time period. Putting the sun-glasses on, the man once known as Gin Yoshiyaki marched forth for his destination, no longer blinded by the bright future ahead of him...


'DDD' Hot Springs, Miyama Town


"Sorry fer being late, boys... hope you all had your fun while I was away. It looks like you did some great work with the architecture 'ere, but now we've gotta do our duty. The Native District's all over the place, and it's our job to fix it. I can't rebuild Fuyuki on my own, so we gotta do it together! Put your glasses on and let's get to it!"

'Father Whiskey'

'Starting Location', Priestella

@FamishedPants@Letter Bee, but I guess also @Phonic@Red Alice

While the bloodshed was happening, Jameson was quite surprised, at first. He almost fell out of his seat at the surprisingly realistic display of violence he had just witnessed. He didn't know what he was getting himself into, but he was still ready to break out his secret weapon. His hand hovered over his jacket pocket, ready to pull it out at a moment's notice should that monster of a woman get any closer to him. Placing his hand on that, he began to-


"... Woah, what?"

Jameson found himself in the very same room, just like how it was before. Same doors, same chairs, heck, even the kids are everywhere! Well, they were 'everywhere' in a different sense of the word, but still. Standing up from his chair and laughing, the priest started clapping at the obvious performance these two have displayed. He was overjoyed, which was odd based on the scene that had been played before him from his very eyes. His reaction was... quite unrealistic, to be fair. Then again, he is the most characteristic of the three, being a priest who smokes indoors, in front of children and all.

"So this is what you kids call 'Call of Duty,' then? Or wait, there aren't any guns, are they? Is this that 'Sky Rum' game, then? Heh... sure, sure, I'll play along. Looks fun!" Jameson rung, joyfully, making his way to one of the doors in the far corners of the hall, opposite of the 'entrance.' While he made his way inside whatever that room entailed, he started making remarks asking why his dad ever banned that 'Dragons With Dungeons' game from the house when he was younger.

HERO.PNG is loading...
Gin Yoshiyaki

Rule #101, Strive

@Paradox Witch

"Oh, I see, Ite I see... so it has to come to this, then?!" Gin placed his hand on the handle of his blade, looking at the wall of a man before him. Gin expected it, he anticipated it... hell, it's what he asked for, after all! Gritting his teeth as he unsheathed his blade, Gin let out a battle cry before charging forth and striking a warrior's pose.

He had no intention of attacking Hercules. It wasn't cool to strike down someone without any provocation, after all. Instead, he decided to show off his own exquisite swordplay to match his opponent. Performing a warrior's dance with his blade, Gin shouted mightily, displaying to his opponent a mix of strength and grace, a piece of his clothing tearing away with each stroke. Of course, it was only natural, after all, as Gin's body become more and more perfect as he continued his performance, and the larger his muscles got, the less room he had for his clothes. This performance until they were all off, save his underwear...

At that point, Gin's body itself, has reached the pinnacle of perfection. His biceps bulging, his abs toned, his pompadour as straightened up as it could ever be. Gin has made it to the pedestal of cool, both technically and literally, since aside from his lack of clothes, he had also built up quite a sweat. Still, however, despite showcasing his skills with the blade, it wasn't enough...

Throwing his katana to the side and grabbing a bundle of talismans conveniently tucked into the side of his underwear, Gin started to make it rain upward, throwing each of his talismans into the sky as they slowly flutter down. Before they can all reach the ground, however, Gin moved to make one more pose.


Gin struck his own pose, flexing with all he could muster, yet at the same time not showing any sign of struggle. The talismans in the air all burst into flames of different colors, like fireworks, adding a mesmerizing shine to the sheen of sweat already draping Gin's god-blessed body. To Gin, he had surpassed the limit of cool so much so that a strange modern construct made out of stained glass hovered slowly over his eyes...

"Who's the coolest now?!"

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